


like a broken midas

by PoemIsDead



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Denial, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gay Panic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/pseuds/PoemIsDead
Summary: Sometimes one little moment could blow your life apart. Something tiny, like glancing to your left while driving, or smiling at a stranger in the subway, or running across the street to catch a bus.Or watching your best friend get a massage.-----Jack has to face some scary revelations.





	1. One Moment

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 fic, and first fic for this fandom. I feel dirty now ;___;
> 
> You'll need some suspension of disbelief for this one. If you're a hardcore fan, you may notice some inconsistencies, but I focused on getting the people right. And this is AU - both Mark and Sean are single (I love Signe and Amy both, but this is fan fiction, so bear with me).
> 
> Rated "explicit" for later chapters. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

Sometimes one little moment could blow your life apart. Something tiny, like glancing to your left while driving, or smiling at a stranger in the subway, or running across the street to catch a bus.

Or watching your best friend get a massage.

It was such a tiny thing, just a quick glance, at just the right moment. It might not even have lasted a full second - a second and a half at most. 1/86,400th of a day. 1/604,800th of a week. No time at all.

Such an insignificant amount of time shouldn't be allowed to destroy your world.

And yet that's all it took. They were just sitting on the couch, relaxing, enjoying the brief time Jack still had left in America. There were a few people over, some the Irishmen knew, some he had only just met, and they were passing a controller around, taking turns seeing how long they could survive as a giant Tremors-like worm creature - a game Mark, Bob, and Jack had recorded the day before.

Now it was just for fun, easy laughter, no obligation to commentate besides whatever they felt like saying. Jack's eyes followed the fat pink creature on the screen as it scarfed down a few goats before slipping into the safety of the ground just as the farmer started unloading his shotgun. Ethan giggled fiercely as the little score counter in the top right corner ticked over Bob's high score, a score Mark and Jack had both failed to beat on their turns, and his voice raised an impossible other octive as he chanted to the red head beside him.

"Gotta catch up, Markimoo~"

"Oh, I'ma catch up." Mark's voice was solid and sure, a crooked grin on his face as he rolled his shoulders in preparation. Jack couldn't help but grin - the man's happiness was infectious - and turned back to watch Ethan digging his way under the barn, just big enough now to start scarfing down the dairy cows huddled inside. Jack had only ever made it up to pigs before.

He got three of the brutes down his gullet before the farmer found him, holding, strangely, a rocket launcher, which he fired immediately upon seeing the worm engulfing a fourth in its weird quivering jaws. Hunks of meat exploded everywhere, and a big splash of pink goop covered the screen as a jaunty little tune played over the words "You Dead".

Ethan's "What?!" was nearly drowned out by the laughter in the room as they watched the rocket-wielding farmer through the goop as he kicked a big chunk of meat at his feet. 

"Why does a farmer have a rocket launcher?! What does he even use it for?"

"To blow you up!"

"Obviously."

"That's bullshit!"

Mark leaned forward to snatch the controller out of Ethan's lap, his face still screwed up with giggles, before flopping back onto the couch.

"You gotta, gotta be prepared for anything, Ethan," Mark chastised through his laughter, that goofy, taunting voice of his creeping into his words. "That's what a _professional_ gamer does."

"Why would I be prepared for a rocket launching farmer??"

"Well, that's why you'll never succeed. Now lemme show you how a real, _professional_ -" he pronounced the word in his best Surrey-snob "-does it."

Jack was still grinning, leaned back in his comfy recliner, watching as Mark leaned forward on the couch, all goofy faced and bright eyed. The red-haired man rolled his shoulders again, releasing the controller to stretch out his fingers, his hands, shake out his entire arms.

"Gotta get loose," he said in that stupid voice again. "Gotta loosen up those shoulders."

That's when Erica, one of the girls he'd just met, Tyler's friend, took his words as a cue, stepping forward with long delicate fingers outstretched to wrap them around Mark's shoulders, and squeeze in a slow, almost sensual motion.

That was all it took. Just a friend's split-second decision to give Mark a warm up massage before he started his turn. Harmless, a friendly, joking gesture, just going along with the red-haired man's hype as he prepared to "squash" Ethan's new high score. But, oh, the damage it did.

Mark's mouth opened with a breathless "oh", the concentration on his face fading into a look of surprised pleasure. His eyelids drooped heavy over upturned eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up in a little smile that faded back and forth between slack, open mouth, and tiny grin, as her hands apparently worked magic over his tight shoulders. It was the face of bliss, a little moment of pure physical happiness as his body responded to the touch.

Maybe it wouldn't have been so devastating if he hadn't looked at him.

"Oh, wow," the American managed between a shaky breath. He turned his head just slightly, closing his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the feeling. Jack was grinning at him, just stupidly enjoying his reaction, not knowing the devastation that was coming. His only thought had been some vague thing about using Erica's massages against him in the future, if his reaction was that good.

And then he'd opened his eyes, and the world came apart. Those warm brown pools went right to Jack, locked on like searchlights, hardly seeing anything through the quick little haze he was enjoying. His mouth split up in a crooked grin, a shaky little laugh escaping his lips, before a low _moan_ sounded in his throat.

It hit Jack like a punch in the gut, a punch that sent waves of excitement right down into his gut, and he could feel himself twitch in response. _Is that what he looks like during sex?_

It's one of those thoughts that just pop up, unbidden. The kind of thing that you usually blow off, forget all about afterwards. Your brain will come up with a million little errant thoughts all throughout the day, plenty of them nonsense. But it didn't just go away for Jack. It took root, deep in his gut, there pooled with the strange electric _zing_ of pleasure that had flashed through him.

Brown eyes hazed in pleasure. Mouth parted in a little smile. Shallow breaths. And he was looking at _him_.

He looked like sin.

It only lasted a second. A second and a half at most, he was sure. But that was enough. Mark's face twisted into a laugh, joining Bob and Ethan's, and Erica's as she took her magical fingers away from his shoulders and gave him a quick pat and a "go get 'em, tiger." They were all laughing again, turning their attention to the game as Mark started his turn. The opening cinematic whirled around a little white egg as it shook and cracked, before breaking to reveal the small pink creature, currently no larger than his hand. They weren't really amazing graphics, but they got the job done for a cheap little download from PSN.

Jack had turned back to the TV too, but he wasn't really watching the game. He'd mostly just turned away from the couch, away from the laughing red-head and his friends, away from those hazy brown eyes.

What had just happened? Jack had never in his life been turned on by Mark, or any of his friends for that matter. I mean, sure, he didn't mind some fan service, and he had fun with it as long as it didn't get weird (which Mark had a way of making even the weirdest seem normal, so that was a hard line to draw). He'd said, and even done, plenty of things that went over that "gay" border, making fan girl's squeal and sweat. It didn't even hold a candle to what KPOP stars were known to do in the name of fan service. And it wasn't like they were serious.

It had never been real for him. That was why he was so comfortable with it. There was no question of it turning into anything else, no question that they were secretly actually serious about their joking "relationship," or that one of them was getting off on it. Mark definitely wasn't gay. And he . . . well, he mostly wasn't gay. And he wasn't attracted to Mark of all people.

I mean, Mark was attractive, sure. People had pointed that out long before him. He was obviously built well, muscled but in a usable way, not like he was just putting on muscle for muscle's sake. He wasn't stripped of every ounce of fat, and it made him look real, instead of like some kind of Ken doll. And his soft Korean features paired with his strong German jaw, the way he kept his stubble at just the right length, he was handsome enough. His voice was pleasantly gravelly, his eyes were always warm or bright - or both. He was a great fan girl victim. And that hair, he loved it, and it looked great when he flipped it down into his eyes, even when it wasn't dyed some crazy color. And he always smelled like . . .

Oh god.

Jack swallowed thickly as he watched a pack of wolves tear into the weird little worm on screen - the same way he had died last time - his eyes fixed on the TV. What was going on? Where had these thoughts come from? Why was he still thinking them?

Just as swiftly as they had emerged, Jack was shoving them violently back into the dark recesses of his mind, the area you put thoughts like "What does it feel like to die?" and "What if I'm always alone?" Thoughts you only brought out in the dark, when you were tucked up in bed, safe and secure, and alone, and you couldn't sleep. He shoved it back with the first thing that popped into his head - some stupid song Schmoyoho had made for Mark about flying like a butterfly. He played it on a loop, as loudly as he could, closing his eyes and shaking his head, one quick shake, like he was dusting off his brain,. It was the equivalent of a little kid screaming "LA LA LA" to drown someone out, but that didn't matter. He just wanted those thoughts gone.

"Jack?"

Jack's eyes snapped open and he turned to meet Mark's eyes, this time keeping a little wall up between them, just mild enough to keep him from falling back in that ocean again. Mark didn't seem to notice anything was off - he was proffering him the controller with a put on grumpy face - and Jack thanked his oblivious attitude. He was so much like a child in some ways, certain things just going right over his head.

"Bet you can't do any better," the red-haired man pouted, leaning forward with that exaggerated face, holding the controller out as far as he could for Jack, who was near across the room. "Ethan was just a fluke."

"Ooooooh, we'll see about that, buddy-boy," Jack shot back, rocking forward in his chair to reach for the controller, grin back on his face. Thank god it was his turn. It was just what he needed, quick distraction, flush out his brain and get rid of those fleeting thoughts, and keep them from ever entering longterm memory. And he was eager to beat Mark, at least get back to the pig-eating size, gloat about it as Mark was once again the weakest of the group at their current game. _Ethan_ was beating him for Christ's sake.

His long fingers wrapped around the other side of the controller, the movement sloppy as he rushed to get the device in his hands. He overlapped his fingers with Mark's as he pulled it back towards him, catching a fleeting feeling of rough skin and warmth, _so warm_. Another shot of electricity shot from his fingertips back to his coiled gut.

God, what had he done?


	2. More Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far guys!! Hope this chapter keeps you happy ;D

To be fair, it wasn't like his life was immediately shattered. It wasn't like someone had died, or he'd broken a leg, or he'd said something terrible in one of his videos and lost his support.

No. He'd just had a quick flash of homosexual thoughts about his best friend.

God, how did you recover from that?

At first, he thought it was going to be fine. They played the game for a good two hours after, and, after shaking the fading memory of Mark's hand from his fingers, everything was normal. It was just the guys (and girls) hanging out, enjoying a little game with no pressure, laughing at each other's stupid jokes and teasing each other endlessly. At some point someone pressed a drink into Jack's hand and the night got a whole lot more tolerable and, frankly, completely fucking normal. Like he hadn't momentarily pictured Mark during sex.

That night he was too tired to dwell on it. It had been a long day, he'd had just the right amount of alcohol, and there was still a hint of jet lag knocking around in him. The promise of a water park trip the next day had everyone buzzing with excitement, and Jack only had to stress about how he was basically going to glow with all his sickly Irish skin showing. Which kept the only functioning part of his brain pretty well occupied.

The next morning was a lazy one for a while as they waited for everyone to wake up and do their morning rituals. Bob and Mandy, and Wade and Molly, had gotten hotel rooms for their visit, but Jack's hotel was more than an hour away (closer to the convention he had come across the pond for), and Mark had invited him to stay in the guest room.

Jack had made his way groggily to the bathroom around 9 or so, catching sight of Tyler making his way towards the kitchen in boxers and a gym shirt, his hair sticking out at odd angles on one side of his head. It felt a little weird, watching him walk like a zombie, obviously just about as awake as the Irishman was, when he was so used to waking up to an empty home. He never really saw . . . well, anyone, when they were just waking up. It felt almost like an intrusion.

Ethan and Mark took a little longer to emerge from their rooms, but by 10:30 everyone was up and awake. Bob and Wade had already texted to let them know they'd meet them at the water park, and Mark and Ethan were bouncing around the house as they waited for the other two to get their bags.

The ride to the park was fun - Tyler drove them all in one car, Mark in the front seat pointing out every mundane thing he could find and making a game of coming up with the most outlandish stories he could manage to explain something like an empty billboard. Ethan was spinning his own tales after the first few, and Tyler joined in occasionally, often adding the perfect addition to one of their tales. Jack laughed with them and went along, asking for clarifications and reasonings, forcing the pair to get more creative as they went.

It was so easy, and comfortable. The kind of joking where no one's trying to impress anyone, or worried about hurting anyone's feelings. It's just humor and jabs and easy laughter. Jack loves it. He gets to be a part of this often in videos, or in skype calls, but it's so much better in person, and he soaks in every moment greedily, enjoying them as much as he can before they tire him out.

They find Wade and Molly just as they're entering, with a text from Bob confirming he and Mandy are already inside, and all head to the lockers to change and store their stuff.

"You're wearing a jacket?" Mark looked at him in horror, but with laughter in his eyes, as he watched Jack push his hands through the sleeves of one of his rattier hoodies. "What, why are you wearing a jacket? You're at a _water park_ , god, who taught you about . . . water parks."

"'cuz I'm white as the driven snow," Jack shot back as he pulled the hood up over his head, letting his green bangs escape. "I'm, fuckin', glow in th'dark, I am."

"What, are you gonna go on the rides with it?"

"Noo," Jack snapped, though there was no real annoyance in it. "But I don't have to be a fuckin' beacon in th'crowd."

Mark laughed at that and dropped it, though a few moments later he was pushing a can of spf 70 into his hands with a wink and a shit eating grin. "Wouldn't want to lose our beacon."

It didn't take them long to get ready, Wade and Tyler both opting to wear shirts, which made Jack feel a little better. Mark, on the other hand, was busy slathering sunscreen over his bare chest, taking every opportunity to shoot globs of the lotion at Ethan whenever he looked away. Which, of course, turned into an all out sunscreen war, Jack right in the mix, wielding his spray can like a flamethrower, and ducking behind Mark any time someone took a shot at him. The red-haired man hollered in indignation as he was hit again and again, and took the chance to chase Ethan across the room with a handful of goop, splattering it across the boy's bare back, and Jack laughed so hard his cheeks hurt.

Easy. Comfortable. Fun. This is why he loved coming to America. It was loud, sure. But he was a loud kind of guy, and he loved it in these short bursts. It was like he had some kind of excitement gauge he would fill up, and survive off of for the following months in his solitude before he came back to fill it up again. And it was so easy to fill it with Mark, who had a knack for making even the mundane entertaining. Like the car ride over. Hanging out with him was just . . . easy. Fun. Nice.

Jack was still laughing as he shrugged out of his jacket, taking the time to rub another layer into his shoulders, knowing even that might not be enough to prevent him from burning. Mark, on the other hand, was doing his best to shuck as much extra lotion off him as he could, squeezing down his arms and shaking the excess from his fingers in Ethan's general direction. The blue-haired kid ducked behind Tyler's wide frame, who shot Mark a challenging look, daring him to try it with him as he let Wade rub lotion into his back. Jack was considering joining them when Mark spoke up.

"Jack . . . Jack, come get my back." The Irishman turned to find his American friend twisted around, trying to reach his mid back with a look of mock frustration. "I, shit, I can't, I got too much . . . meat."

"Oh, psh," Jack snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes. He could hear Ethan giggling and mocking Mark's words behind him ("He's got to much MEAT, guys"), but he stepped forward anyway, hand outreached for the bottle. "Fine, yeh big baby, but yeh gotta get mine after."

He didn't really need the bottle, he realized as he got closer. There were still sizable smears of opaque lotion across his shoulders and arms, and Mark was reaching back to offer him a dollop from his hand. Jack reached up, his hands looking so very pale against Mark's sunkissed skin, going for the smears across his shoulders to rub them back down against his back.

He could feel the heat rolling off him in waves before he even touched him, like one of those little bathroom heaters, or an oven, or the sun. His hands brushed out across his shoulders blades, and Jack was sure his hands had to feel like ice to Mark - how was he so _warm_. But Mark leaned back into the touch, bending his knees a little to give him better access, and flexed his arm to stretch the skin against his back.

Muscle slid under his hands, warm and smooth, and _there was that feeling again_. Jack felt like he had been electrocuted, from his palms pressed against slick skin, straight to his groin, and he bit down hard on his lip to stop the weird little noise he almost made.

What. The. Hell.

Before the Irishman even had time to recover, Mark was bringing his hand around, offering that dollop of lotion, muscles sliding under his skin again in a way that did something funny to Jack's gut. The larger male had turned around to look at him, brown eyes straining as hard as they could to look back at blue, mouth open in some stupid face.

"You got me?"

He'd just been sitting there. Frozen. _Fuck._ Jack almost jumped, his hands feeling strangely numb as he started working the lotion in, doing his best to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach, breathing slowly through his nose and moving as fast as he could. It probably wasn't the best lotion job, but it would work well enough. It wasn't like Mark really needed the protection - he was already some kind of tanned god.

"There yeh go," he said as soon as he was done, his voice too high. He snatched his hands away, _too fast_ , and hoped Mark didn't notice as he turned back to the counter, blindly reaching for his jacket, struggling to get his heartbeat back under control. He had the fabric in his fingers, one hand fumbling to find a sleeve, when firm fingers closed around his shoulder.

"Oh, hold up, I gotchu boo." Mark's voice was surprisingly close, just over his shoulder, and Jack might have bolted if he hadn't been pressed against the counter, a wall to his right, Mark cornering him in. He couldn't help the little _eep_ that escaped as he felt something cold running down his back, arching away from the feeling as his heart tried to climb its way through his throat.

"Fuckin' . . . wot?" He sputtered, the weird feeling of momentary relief that he was just fulfilling his sunscreen promise rather than noticing something was wrong being replaced by confusion as he felt another line of lotion down his back, and then another, across his shoulder. "What, how much fookin' lotion do yeh need?" His accent came out thicker as he choked around the mass in his throat, and pulled away, closer to the wall, looking back at Mark with suspicion and confusion.

"What, I don't want you to buuuuurn-"

"I'm not gonna burn, yeh don't have'ta-, jesus man, that's, I don't need that much, what th'hell?"

Mark was grinning, but there was a look of concentration on his face as he stepped closer, effectively pinning Jack in the corner, and pushed against his shoulder to turn him back around. He was almost pushing him against the wall. Like a bad anime.

"I gotchu, I gotchu, I got this, come on . . ."

Jack froze, and focused on his breathing as he felt Mark's hand press firmly down his back, smearing lotion across him, the warmth of his hand spreading through him, giving him goosebumps. _God, don't see, please . . ._ He felt like he might explode, out of excitement or fear or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. _Don't be weird, calm down, don't make this weird._

Where as Jack had rushed the job, moving as fast as he could to get his hands away from his friend's back, Mark seemed determined to get every patch of skin he could get. Broad hands pressed against his shoulders, shoulder blades, down his spine, across his hips. One hand came around his side as he was working a spot on his lower spine, gripping to hold him still as he smoothed the lotion across his skin, and Jack had to fight not to whine - prepared to claim ticklishness if it escaped even as the feeling of his fingers digging into the hollow of his hip did weird things to his dick and chest alike.

Honestly, it didn't last all that long. 15 seconds, 20 at the max. They'd done worse (though Jack couldn't think of anything right then). And Mark was talking to Tyler during part of it, his voice completely level, jokey, normal. It was normal. Don't make it weird. It was just a bro lotioning another bro's back.

Mark's hand came down in a hard _smack_ against his shoulder, a low "There ya go" shot in his direction before he backed off and scooped up his stuff, shoving it back into his bag and heading towards the lockers. Ethan was packing up his bag too by this point, and Wade and Tyler already seemed to be done, waiting near the door, Wade on his phone texting Bob.

Jack grabbed his jacket from where it had fallen, in a hand he swore wasn't shaking, and looked around, his eyes fixed on the bathroom sign across the room. He just needed . . . a minute.

"Ah, hold on, I'll meet yeh guys outside," he said, begging his voice not to shake, or break, as he backed away, his jacket wrapped around his hands in front of him. "Just gotta run to th'restroom."

Someone gave him an "okay!", but he didn't catch who it was. He was already through the men's door, fumbling his way into a stall, closing the lock with shaking hands.

Fucking hell.

He was hard. Not a lot. Just a little. But more than he should be. More than he should be from getting lotioned by a man, by his friend. What the hell was wrong with? Why was he suddenly like this?

Jack leaned his forehead against the back of the door, breathing slow, pressing his palm against his jeans, counting the breaths, and wondering how the hell he could fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I'm so very sorry, but don't expect a new chapter from me every day, please, I will disappoint you. I just had some extra time, so here you go.


	3. Riding the High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pause for some friendship time, and just a little sexiness at the end.
> 
> Just to clarify, I'm not actually describing Splash Zone or anything here, just a generic water park. And the ride they're on is basically like Ihu's Breakaway Falls (look it up, it's terrifying).

Jack stood in the little tube, heart in his throat, trying desperately not to panic as the ride tech fiddled with their settings, waiting for the slide to be clear. God, how had he let Mark talk him into this? And why? Here he was, a grown man, standing in a glass tube, about to have a full blown panic attack while at least a dozen people watched, several of them filming. Because his best friend was a douche.

He'd only followed them up because _Mark_ had seemed nervous to make the climb himself, and he had _promised_ he wouldn't make Jack ride. _Promised_. And he'd _lied_ , the dickhead.

Well, that wasn't exactly fair. Mark hadn't made him ride it. He himself had been the one to casually mention maybe trying it out. But it was all Mark's fault that he'd gone through with it - the red-haired man had just looked so damn excited. And Jack didn't want to take that away from him. It'd be like taking candy from a baby.

And then the girls had recognized them, and they got excited too, and of course it had to be on _this_ ride that someone knew who they were, and of course they couldn't be the sweet types who talked Jack _out_ of doing something that terrified him instead of _into_ it.

It was the perfect shit storm.

And so now Jack was standing at the top of an 80ft drop, his arms held tight over his bare chest, trying not to think about the one hatch between him and a dead drop, the people filming, the controls out of his reach and instead in the hands of a grinning young woman who looked like she enjoyed her job just a little too much.

It felt like something was trying to claw it's way out of his chest through his throat - his heart, or a scream, or shameless begging for someone to let him out of this sheer terror-inducing shaft. God, why, _why_ had he done this. This was so stupid, he couldn't, he needed _out_.

Movement caught his eye, and he snapped up in panic, watching as the tech waved, and crossed her arms over her chest in an "x", twice. He knew what he was supposed to do. He'd watched the people before them. The tech had explained it before he got in. He had to cross his arms, hold his shoulders so he didn't hurt himself on the way down. But he didn't want to. He wanted out. If he crossed his arms, she was going to drop him, and he didn't want to drop, _please_.

Fear-filled eyes turned to face the blue tube across from him, searching for his face, ready to tell him (mime to him, at least) that he couldn't do it, he was getting out.

But Mark's hand was pressed against the glass, and he was leaning forward, watching him with a little smile that didn't seem like he was laughing at him (at least he hoped), and Jack felt his chest relax, just a little. His friend's lips were moving, though he couldn't hear anything through the two glass doors between them.

But he recognized his name.

_"Jack."_

Jack swallowed. Mark was going to talk him into this.

 _"It's okay."_ The hand shifted on the glass, the fingers curling a little. _"You're okay, Jack."_

Jack watched as the American mimicked his tech, crossing his arms in that "x" (it suddenly looked like a sign for death) and nodded slowly at him, that little smile still there. His lips moved in an exaggerated motion, making sure he could read the words of encouragment as he took a deep breath.

_"I promise."_

Nope. He wasn't doing this. That was an 80ft drop. A dead drop. Straight down. They were way too high, he couldn't just fall like that, couldn't just feel that horrible lurching in his gut as he was released into open air to just fall like a rock. He couldn't do that. He was getting out. Fuck Mark. Fuck this.

And yet he felt his arms cross over his chest - without permission. Like a zombie. Or a puppet. And Mark grinned the biggest grin he'd ever seen before the ground dropped out beneath them, and they were both screaming.

It was only a second - a long, drawn out second - of falling before the tube curved around him, and he was flying through a red tunnel at uncomfortable speeds, rivets flashing before his eyes at regular intervals, the little bumps between connected sections bruising his hip as he went around a corner, too fast, _too fast_. The scream in his throat was wavering and jumping in weird ways, and it took him till near the end to realize he was more hollering than screaming, and there was laughter in it, and okay, this was fucking terrifying, but it was also probably the most exciting thing he'd done in his life.

And then it was over. Sunlight burst over his head as he shot out of the covered slide and skidded through the long water-filled half-tube before spinning to a stop, suddenly head first and scrambling to get his legs under him as he reached for the side of the slide.

He was shaking so hard it took him a few tries to stumble out of the tube, wiping water from his face and taking deep gasping breaths. His eyes found Mark as he got solid concrete beneath him once more, the red-haired man looking about as messy as he was as he shook water from his hair and blinked blearily in the bright sunlight, his chest heaving.

Mark's eyes found his, bright and exuberant, and that grin split his face again, painfully wide, and he was laughing, loud and wild. One hand shot up to point at Jack, and he looked about as shocked as he was happy.

"YOU DID IT!" He screamed at him, loud enough for heads to turn from all directions. But Jack didn't care anymore.

He _had_ done it. The one ride he swore he would never get on in his life. The one thing he'd made Mark _promise_ he wouldn't make him do, because it terrified the ever-loving shit out of him. And he'd just done it. And for the second time in five minutes he felt like something was going to burst out of his chest, and it was probably a scream, and this time he just let it go.

"Yeeeeeaaaaahahahahah!" The screamed word quickly turned into incoherent laughter as he took a flying leap at his friend, his body wrapping nimbly around the other, arms around his shoulders, legs around his stomach, laughing and slapping him in excitement, unable to express his sheer exuberance any other way. Mark's hands came around to grab him, one hand steading him as the other slapped him back, and he was laughing so hard they almost went over.

Several people had stopped to stare at the duo, but neither of them cared, as Jack disentangled himself, bending over as soon as his feet hit the ground, and letting out another loud _WHOOP_ as he came back up. God he felt like the fucking king of the world.

And he'd hugged Mark. And he hadn't made it weird.

They were catching their breath now, Jack's excitement still buzzing through him, still riding that high, as they made their way away from the slide exit, Jack basically skipping his way to the gate, where Bob and Mandy were waiting. Fucking hell, this was fun. If this didn't fill up his excitement gauge for the next 6 months alone, he'd be shocked.

The trio seemed to materialize out of thin air, or out of the shrubbery like velociraptors or something. Three nervous looking girls, probably around 15 or 16, holding their phones, and each other, as they crept their way towards them. Jack saw them first, a big grin still plastered across his face, and he waved without hesitation, knowing they were coming for them.

"Hellooo," he called in a high, giddy voice, which made all three of them duck their heads, like they had been caught trying to steal from the cookie jar or something. Mark looked up in time to see them giggling nervously at each other, nudging one another with sharp elbows, and he turned that charming grin to them, taking a moment to flip his wet hair from his eyes.

One of the girls stepped forward, the other two clinging to her shirt, looking like they were both shoving her forward and holding her back at the same time. "Um . . . do you think . . . we could maybe get a picture?" The girl to the right licked her lips and swallowed before adding "I mean . . . we don't want to bother you, but . . ."

It was still so surreal to see people so nervous. Because of him. Just being around him, getting to meet him. It always felt like he'd stepped into another universe for a moment.

Although he could probably blame this one more on Mark than himself.

"Sure!" Mark was already stepping forward, waving the girls up to stand in front of him, and Bob over, and grabbing Jack by the wrist to drag him into frame. The trio tittered excitedly, shuffling to find the right distance and the right pose, and Mark gave them his biggest smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes and stupid American charm. Jack leaned into him, feeling the warmth wash against his side as he grinned for the camera.

The girls giggled, and snapped their pictures, and thanked them in shaky voices, and Jack felt a bit of regret at having to let go of Mark as they finished. If he could just spend the rest of the day grinning and hanging on to Mark, this would probably qualify as the best day of his life.

Aaaand, he was making it weird again.

Just as the three girls were leaving, all giggles and comparing pictures, and basically bouncing away like Jack had been moments before, another group came around the corner. An older girl, probably in her mid-twenties, looked up from her phone to glance at the trio of girls, curiosity on her face as they tittered excitedly, only to glance over and find the source of their merriment.

"Oh, my god, it's Septiplier."

What a weird first thing to say. Jack had to wonder what kind of life this woman led that her first thought upon seeing two "internet famous" people - just friends, mind - was to call them by their ship name. A ship that had died down quite a bit, and Jack had expected to mostly be carried by teenagers at this point.

The woman had her phone pulled up, ready to take a picture in a flash, her mouth twisted up in a bemused smile at catching the two together, soaking wet, enjoying their water park trip. Jack found the smile spreading across his face automatically, ready for the picture, wishing she'd given him another moment so he didn't look so much like a drowned dork standing their alone, but knowing it was inevitable, and there was no point in trying to run from it.

And then warm hands were wrapping around his waist, pulling him flush against a broad chest, a little gasp of surprise catching in his throat as he looked up to find Mark's face inches from his, leaning in with pursed lips. Like he was going to kiss him.

It felt like his stomach did a triple somersault.

Jack yanked his face away, hard, a nervous laugh escaping his lips before he could stop it, followed by what he hoped sounded like an exasperated "Oh, god". That was too close. Way too close. Wow he was close. Close enough to feel his heartbeat through his chest, smell the fruity candy he'd been munching on earlier. Close enough to really kiss him, if he wanted to.

Jack's breathing hiked up another notch.

Mark wasn't really going to do it. He was just goofing off for the camera, of course. You fed the fangirls only to a certain point - add wood to the fire, not gasoline - and he couldn't actually _kiss_ him. Jack knew that. And even still, he felt like there was an anaconda wrestling with its dinner in his gut.

Jack forced his eyes up to the girl with her phone out again, giving her what he hoped she took as a "look what I have to put up with" smile, and waited for her to get her pictures so this could be done, and he could go back to enjoying his day. Mark was still far too warm against him, and he was pressing him closer, closer than he should be, and Jack tried - he really tried - not to make it weird.

But then he felt Mark's breath washed over his ear, feathered and soft against wet skin, and a full body shudder rocked through him, his nerves coming to life in delicious ways for a split second.

The girl got her pictures and left, and Jack was left standing in Mark's arms, wondering how things had gotten so weird in just 24 hours.


	4. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack does some soul searching, and some research.

Jack sat cross-legged on the wide bed in his hotel room, laptop in his lap, drink in hand, snacks spread out around him like some kind of ritual circle. A little red bar crawled its way across the screen, painfully slow, hardly moving at all, as the Irishman slowly took another draw from his bottle.

This hotel's wifi was shit. Which was doubly annoying, since he had made it a point to research and ask about the quality of the wifi while room shopping. Obviously, the lady at the front desk had lied - if this was 15Mbps, he'd eat his own ass. Videos took forever to load, even at the lowest resolutions, and the upload speeds were so horrendous Jack had trouble stomaching it.

He'd started uploading the video over an hour ago now, and still it ticked it's way slowly across the screen, only just past half way, taunting him with it's molasses speed. He was terrified to touch anything else on the damn computer lest it slow it down any further (if that was even possible). Or, god forbid, broke it, and make him start all over.

He'd been fiddling with his phone for the last half hour, but he was hitting that bored stage, where nothing he touched held his attention for more than a few minutes. Lots of phone games, but his favorites were time based, and he'd taken up all the actions he had for now. There were plenty of things he could get done on his computer, but he was still terrified to do anything with it. He didn't want to leave the hotel room in case something happened with the upload that he needed to be there for. Not like there was anything he could do if something did happen, but he couldn't seem to convince himself of that fully enough to get up and walk off.

So Jack had an uncomfortable amount of free time sitting around him, and he was having increasing trouble finding something to keep his brain from going back to that one topic it had been creeping towards all day.

Mark.

God, what was he going to do? He'd thought it had been a momentary thing, a passing thought that he could forget all about if he got past it quick enough. But that obviously didn't seem to be the case. He'd tried to ignore it yesterday, and all that had gotten him was two semis and a lot of confusion.

The memory of Mark - his arms around him, his chest beneath his palms, his breath over his ear - still gave Jack gooseflesh, like he could feel the ghost of the touch. And there were a million more little memories that went with it - the concentration on his face as he worked lotion into his back, the rough sound of his voice over his shoulder, the crooked grin he gave him when they stopped for Dippin' Dots, the feeling of his shoulder pressing against his when they sat on a bench. It was like someone had taken a highlighter to his memories and noted all the things he had never paid attention to before, and now he couldn't help but see them.

Why? He was sure he had never fixated like this in the past. At least, not that he was aware of. And they were things he had no reason to pay attention to. Why did he care that Mark was warm, or Mark looked at him, or Mark touched him? He was his friend. He'd been his friend for years now. They hung out every time Jack was in the States - hell, he'd stayed at his house on several occasions now. Mark was there when he needed him, he was fun and goofy and down for anything. Why did it matter if he was attractive? Why would that have any baring in their relationship?

Of course, there was one possibility. But Jack wasn't going there. He'd been through that phase of his life already, gotten it out of his system, so to speak. He was 94% sure he was not gay. And even if he was, he wasn't about to be gay for Mark.

He'd been 14 when he first had an inkling he might be interested in a male. A friend of his, Joshua, who always sat near him, and smelled like spearmint from his gum habit, and liked to draw comics that he often put Jack in. They'd spent one entire summer together while his mum had been away. But even if they hadn't been literally living together, they would have been inseparable. They were just those kinds of friends.

And then, the day before he left to go back home, Josh kissed him. Just a little peck, quick and chaste. But Jack knew it wasn't the kind of thing friends did.

And then nothing else happened. Josh never spoke of it again, and a year later, he and his mom moved 2 hours away, and he never saw him again.

In his senior year it had happened again. David, cute, funny, a really great guy, had asked him out. And Jack had honestly tried to make it work. It wasn't like he had any issue with it, and his mum had always been supportive of him, and he really liked him.

Unfortunately, that "really liked" didn't seem to translate to romantically. That was pretty clear after the first time he'd stayed over at his house, his mum out, just the two of them. They'd sat and watched a movie for a while, and played some video games, and just talked. And then they'd started making out, and there was just . . . nothing.

David's mom found out a few weeks later, and that was the end of that. They were half way across the country in a month, just like Joshua, and Jack was left 80% sure that he was heterosexual. And later soul-searching did nothing but up that percentage.

So then why did he feel this way around Mark? What was different? He'd had closer friends-

No, that wasn't true. Mark was about as close a friend as he'd had by this point. But so were Joshua and David. And neither had done this to him.

So, what, was it just physical attraction? Shouldn't that manifest at an earlier date than _3 years_ down the line? Jack tried to remember if he'd felt anything back when he first met Mark.

He'd been a fan of his for ages already. He could still remember the sheer exhilarating excitement that had coursed through him when he found the message from him that day, the way he'd fallen into mild hysterics, the way his chest felt like it was going to explode. And meeting him had been amazing too - seeing him in the flesh for the first time, shaking his hand, just talking to him. It had all been . . . overwhelming. But he definitely didn't remember popping a boner at any point during that.

And Mark and him had fallen into a pretty comfortable friendship almost immediately, which had been surreal to say the least. They were joking with each other like old friends, doing collab after collab, skyping each other regularly. It had all felt so . . . comfortable. Easy. Like they had been meant to be friends all along.

Did he find Mark attractive? Well, yes, he supposed he had to admit that to himself. Mark was just an attractive person, there was no getting around that. Not just his looks either, but his personality, the way he smiled and lit up an entire room. It was dangerous to be around. But then, he'd thought David was pretty damn attractive too, and that hadn't actually manifested itself into anything.

So how was he supposed to know? Not that he wanted to know, because he was not gay for Mark, but if he wanted to know, how was he supposed to? He couldn't exactly just . . . try it out. He wasn't about to ruin another friendship like that.

Jack slowly sank back into the pillows behind him, looking up at the ceiling with searching eyes, as if he could find the answers to all life's problems there. He didn't want this to keep happening. He didn't want to keep making the precious little time with Mark weird. He wanted it gone, and his old life and easy friendship back. So how did he get it?

Prove he wasn't sexually attracted to Mark.

Well, that was easier said then done. How was he supposed to do that? Images flashed through his mind, briefly, and Jack shied hard away from them. Mark leaning forward to kiss him, Mark's hand trailing down chest, Mark-

Nope. Nope, he was not doing that. He was not about to make this any more awkward than it needed to be. Not when he was 93% sure he wasn't gay. The less weird memories he had, the better. He didn't want to have to feel guilty about all of this afterwards.

So what then? Research? Videos? It wasn't like it was hard to find Mark on the internet - there was more of him on there than there was in real life. Jack dipped his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone once more, pulling up YouTube and jumping to Mark's channel on auto pilot.

He could go watch videos of him. Examine them. Decide how he felt from a distance without having to actually involve Mark in any way. That was the safest course of action - and coincidentally, the one that didn't make Jack's gut coil into a ball.

He swallowed a little when he saw the most recent video, Mark's face blown up across the thumbnail, and forced himself not to look away. He'd stared at Mark's face a million times before. There was nothing weird about it. No reason to run away from it.

Jack flipped through the videos absently, wondering what the best option for his research would be. Something where he could actually see Mark would probably be best. Not just the usual cutout for videos. So something live action. Jack skimmed, and then chose one of the videos he had made when he was tricking out his ice cream van.

Mark, lounged out on the bed in the back, Chica at his feet, a whiteboard in his hand. He was greeting the camera with a coy smile, one eyebrow raised, his shirt pulled up just a little to show a bit of skin, and Jack congratulated himself on picking probably the best recent video for this. What better way to get the juices flowing than a boudoir pose? It wasn't exactly pornographic, but it was suggestive enough.

Jack forced himself to really examine it, focused on the bit of skin, the jut of his hip bone against his jeans, his crooked smile and come hither eyes. He drank it all in, doing his best to let it be interpreted by his mind naturally, without influence. He watched his friend, laid out across the bed, speaking in his low, rumbly voice, doing his best to be suggestive, and felt . . . nothing.

He watched the opening over and over several times, trying to put himself in different mindsets for each one, tried to imagine it as sexy. And it just didn't work. He could appreciate that he was putting on a sexy pose. But it wasn't doing anything for him.

Jack let out a shaky breath and backed out of the video, taking a quick moment of relief before pulling up the search bar and typing in a name. The first had gone well, but it was a random grab from his recent videos, and there were many more out there that went . . . further. He had only tested the waters so far, now he needed to really dig in.

No, he didn't go right for #SEXYMARK. Jack had watched that video on several occasions, mostly in front of Mark, just to mess with him. He couldn't see it without laughing, even when he was alone. The music, the way he walked, unbuttoning his shirt - they were all goofy to him. And the idea of him covered in batter or syrup just seemed sticky and gross. There was no way in hell he would ever be able to see those exaggerated poses, expressions, as anything other than hilariously awkward.

So not #SEXYMARK. But there were other videos. The hot chocolate hot tub was the first, the vague memory of Mark being shirtless spurring the decision. Yesterday had been the first time Mark being shirtless had ever bothered him - at least, he was pretty sure it was the first time. Bare skin, glistening from the water as he took deep breaths, pressed against him-

Jack snapped his attention back to the screen. He wanted an unbiased opinion, not one while he was . . . worked up. For all he knew, there was some kind of sex pollen in the air yesterday that had broken him, and he wasn't about to let that bleed into this.

The video started, and Jack's brow furrowed slightly. Mark's voice was deep, gravelly. He'd been sick just before this, the low rumble in his throat being the only real indication of the past affliction. He stopped to listen to it for a moment, closing his eyes, just absorbing the sound of it. It was . . . sexy, yes. That was, at the very least. No gooseflesh, though. No racing heart or electricity. Just a kind of knowledge that, yes, it was sexy. Not exactly the red flag he was looking for.

He opened his eyes and watched as Mark continued explaining the premise of the video (what had put that in his head, god). He was wearing a shirt, a green one, sleeveless, with Reptar on the front, and a little santa hat over messy hair, though he was pretty sure he lost both of those before the video ended. Jack watched, his mouth in a thin line, as Mark introduced his "elves", Ethan and Tyler stepping into frame, both shirtless. Jack looked over them both, briefly. Tyler was, of course, a beast of a man, but he knew that even with his shirt on. Ethan was more surprising, all lean muscle and wiry frame, something he hadn't realize until he met him in person.

"Why are you shirtless?" Mark looked over the both of them, his voice getting soft as he asked "Was I supposed to be shirtless?"

Jack swallowed, and waited for the inevitable.

Suddenly, the video cut to the next shot, Mark out of his shirt, bare save for his swim trunks, flexing for the camera as he continued explaining the video in that rumbling voice. His olive skin slid smoothly over muscle as he arched his back just right, trying to get that perfect pose as his companions flexed with him. Veins ran down his arm, around his wrists, over clenched fists. He could _hear_ the fan girls screaming in the comments.

But nothing screamed in him. That same acknowledgement - yes, that's sexy, I can see that - was there, but nothing else. No sparks. No excitement. Just . . . recognition.

He couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

With trepidation, he stopped the video, and went to the search bar again. The voice. That had been the . . . closest, he supposed. Rough and gravelly. And he of course knew exactly where to test that particular aspect.

There were four of them now. He had watched the first three, and found them incredibly funny, Mark struggling to keep his voice so low while giggling being surprisingly entertaining. But the fourth he had never gotten around to. Not that he really needed to. The biggest bomb from that particular video had been dropped all over the internet, and he had been linked to it more times than he could count.

"Hello everybody . . . my name is Markiplier, and welcome back . . . to another world's . . . quietest . . . let's play."

There. A tingle. Just a little, but it was something. Jack closed his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world, and focusing on the voice. It rumbled and shook, every single touch of his lips, every smooth breath, caught by the sensitive mic. It was impossibly deep compared to the speaking voice Jack was used to, and he focused on it, the cadence, the way he breathed, the words he dragged out. It was fan girl fuel for sure. And yet . . .

Jack . . . couldn't really get into it. There had been a moment, just a quick moment. But then it was gone, and he was just listening to Mark speak really slowly as he explained the "new" controls the developers had introduced, and prepared to jump back into the hated game. It was sexy, yes goddamnit, but there was nothing else.

Jack tossed the phone to his side in frustration. What the hell? Why was that any different? Why was it just when he was in front of him? Was it a smell? Or was it specifically touch? No, because he'd reacted from things other than touches, or being really close. So what the hell was the difference?

He needed to know. He needed to figure this out, so he could fix it before he had to see Mark again tomorrow. He wanted his normal life back, his normal friendship. He wanted to touch Mark and not immediately make it gay.

Jack lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, pondering. Maybe . . . maybe it had just been a one time thing. He'd just been in a . . . weird mood, or something. Hadn't taken the time to masturbate properly or something. Maybe this proved that he wasn't really attracted to him. At least . . . not in a gay way. He chest did a strange sort of thing at that, and he sat back up, staring at the computer screen, the little red bar near the end now.

He wasn't gay for Mark. That's what this meant. He could continue his normal life, his normal friendship. He could stop making everything weird and just go back to being Jack & Mark, completely platonic friends, who loved each other very much.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly.

But he was done thinking about it. He was tired of stressing about it, and there were things he could be getting done. He hadn't checked his Twitter in a while now, and Bob had messaged him back, and there were probably a million new emails he could sift through. Annoying to do on his phone, but the upload was almost done, and he could use the laptop again soon. He reached out to snatched the phone back, flipping through the screens to get to Twitter, humming to himself as he got back into the swing of _normal_ life.

Then he saw the picture, and his heart was right back to trying to strangle him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't leave you too long on this one ;)


	5. Discovery*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using the (* means nsfw) thing I've seen some other authors using. So you know what that means ;)

It was right at the top of his feed. Just sitting there, waiting for him, like a tiger waiting to pounce at just the moment he least expected it. Jack's mouth felt uncomfortably dry, his eyes fixed on the pair in the photo, trying to remember how to breathe.

It was him and Mark. He didn't recognize the photo, but he knew exactly where it was, and who had taken it. They were both soaking wet, hair plastered to their heads, skin glistening in the mid-day sunshine. You could just see the slide behind them, and Bob was there, just a little out of frame. But it was obvious what the center of attention was.

Mark had his arms around Jack, wrapped around him like you would wrap a lover, leaned forward, almost enveloping him. One of Jack's hands was on Mark's hip - when had he done that? - and the other was pressed limply against his chest, more resting there than pushing him away. A compromising position to be in, to say the least, and more than they usually pushed it. But it was the faces that really did him in.

Mark was smiling, just a little, his lips parted as if he were taking a breath. His eyes were heavy-lidded, like you had caught him mid-blink, only this looked intentional, like he was looking at something that . . . pleased him. He was leaning in close - too close, he could remember it - his lips inches from Jack's ear. Just smiling that smoldering smile, like he was about to whisper terrible things to the green-haired man.

Jack was turned away, his eyes closed, his body tense, lean muscle showing across his shoulders and arms. His mouth was open too, wider, a little "o" of surprise as he pulled his face away from his companion. His brows were furrowed, like he was confused, or considering. But the open mouth, the tense shoulders, the closed eyes, the furrowed brow.

He looked like he was moaning.

Anyone who looked at this photo would see a couple. And not just a "ooh, look at the happy couple, how cute" kind of couple. It was . . . dirty. Intimate. Like you had stepped right into their bedroom as the red-haired man told his lover all the things he wanted to do to him.

Jack made a choked sound high in his throat, struggling to get air in, wondering how this was so easy usually.

She had taken the picture at just the right moment. A second earlier or a second later and it would have probably just looked like a picture of the two of them goofing off, rather than this . . . twisted reality. But that moment, Jack's eyes closed, mouth open, the little smile on Mark's face under hooded eyes. It just looked so . . .

_Sexy._

And this time, it wasn't just an acknowledgement. It wasn't some logical acceptance of a fact. This time, he felt it. In his skin, where goosebumps spread, in his tightening chest, in the electricity running to his gut.

In his . . .

Jack tore his eyes from the picture to look at the accompanying comment and tags.

_"Looks like someone had a good date. @Jack_Septic_Eye, @Markiplier, #Septiplier."_

Simple and to the point. Jack could hear blood rushing in his ears as he read it again, before looking back to the picture, swallowing the feeling rising in his throat.

_Shit._

Well that threw his "not gay for Mark" theory right out the window. That _definitely_ wasn't the kind of reaction you had to your platonic friend. And there definitely wasn't any sex pollen in the air either. 15 minutes of going through sexy videos with nary a reaction proved that. He just . . . hand't been looking at the right things, apparently.

Jack swallowed again, unable to look away from the pair before him. Mark looked so . . . just . . . wow. His mouth curled up just so, his head titled to the side, leaned towards him, lips so close. Those eyes, deep and warm, and looking at _him_. His stomach coiled deliciously and he took a shaky breath, trying to keep his head.

He'd stared at sexy videos and listened to sexy videos and actually _tried_ to get turned on by it. But a single, static photograph wrecked him worse than any of those videos had even gotten close to.

Jack's finger shook as he pressed the screen, right over her username, his phone taking a moment to get to her feed on the shitty wifi. Her tweet had blown up, despite what he had expected to be a fairly dead fanbase at this point. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to see, but it felt wrong to stare at that on his own feed. Like looking at it there acknowledged it for the whole world, instead of just in that dark little place in his mind.

The feed loaded, and oh god, there were more. 2 more to be precise, neither as earth shattering as the first, but none of them innocent. One was obviously snapped just moments before. Mark was leaning towards him, lips pursed, like he was gonna kiss him. It was probably too exaggerated to actually be taken as a real kiss. More goofy, if taken on it's own. But the way Mark was still holding him, so close, and Jack's face, caught just as he was realizing what was happening, mouth open in surprise, bright eyes locked right on Mark's. It made it look so much more . . . exciting.

The last was taken after Mark had released him, after when Jack had thought she had stopped taking photos. They had taken a step back from each other, Mark's hand still on Jack's arm, his soft eyes fixed on him. Jack was bent over a little, hands in his pockets, a weird grin running up one side of his face. If you looked close, you could see the blush across his cheeks.

Oh god. Oh no. What had he done? Why had he let Mark do that? Why had he made it weird? Why did that woman have to post it? Why did he have to see it? He didn't want this - he didn't want to ruin this relationship. This beautiful, beautiful relationship. Mark was his friend, he loved him, why did he have to go and do this? Why did he have to ruin it so badly?

Mark's avatar caught his eye, the red background and pink mustache standing out, and Jack looked down to find the red-haired man had already replied. Of course he had. He loved fueling this shit. He'd tweeted that time Jack let him stay at his place the very next morning, all giddy to feed the fans.

Which meant . . . oh god, he'd seen the pictures. Not that that was so terribly - he'd actually _been_ there after all - but this was . . . different. These had been taken just so, no buddies goofing around, just two men, holding each, looking far more into it than straight men should.

If Mark had missed his blush in the moment, he had all the time in the world to examine it now. All the time in the world to look over these pictures, and realize they looked just a little too real, and decide to put some distance between them.

How had it gone so wrong?

Jack had to read the words on the screen over several times before he could actually understand them.

_"Oooh, I always have a good time with my Jackaboy."_

The smile crept up his face unbidden, small but sweet, and he heard himself laugh a little. There he was again, plowing right into it with no shame, no discomfort. So easy. Jack used to be like that - happy to play along - but never like Mark. Mark played it like it was canon.

Jack put the phone down a few minutes later, having reached the maximum amount of squealing he could read in text form before he got a headache. He'd need to shoot a reply out soon, especially since Mark had already beat him to the punch. But for the moment, he just lay there, taking it all in.

He had definitely responded to that. Strongly. He could still feel his body thrumming with excitement, his dick stirring in his jeans, and he closed his eyes, letting the feeling run for a moment. He was attracted to Mark. In some way. He still hadn't really worked that out. But there was something there. The way he'd been looking at him in that photo, those dark eyes burning through the picture version of him, like he was ready to eat him up. It wasn't really what had happened. He'd probably been mid blink or something. But still.

The idea of Mark looking at him like that. With longing. With want. It made his toes curl even as the blush spread across his face. The images started slowly at first, quick flashes turning slowly to a solid stream, and Jack considered fighting it for a moment before he finally, finally, let them play.

Mark looking at him from under heavy lashes, that little smile playing on his face. Leaning forward, towards him, his face coming to rest next to his, his lips right there by his ear, like the picture, but face to face. He could almost feel the heat coming off him, the warm breath against his ear.

The last video flashed through his mind, Mark grumbling at his camera as he played I Am Bread and tried to keep his voice at that insanely low level. And the words, the ones everyone had hyped up so much, the only part of the video he had seen before today, flashed through his mind, and he could just imagine them on Mark's lips, rumbled into his ear.

_"I won't break you, unless you deserve to be broken."_

No. Jack pushed the image away, gasping in the silence of the room. He couldn't, it was like staring at the sun, too much at once and he couldn't stand it. His heart was hammering away in his chest, and he was past the little semi erection he'd had in the locker room at the water park. He was near full mast now.

God, this was wrong. Mark had been nothing but a friend to him. A good friend. A sweet one, who supported him and took him places and gave him a place to stay whenever he wanted. A friend that was so easy to talk to, and goof off with, and just be around. And he was staining him. Dirtying him up with his . . . sick perversions. This was so very wrong.

And he couldn't stop it.

The images came back, slowly, creeping back into his mind like flood waters, filling his head with filth.

Mark with that little surprised expression from the other day, when Erica's hands had worked their magic. Surprised because it felt good. His face melting into pleasure as he leaned his head back and took a shuddering breath. Jack could see it so clearly. How he would look, enjoying himself. His mouth would be open, and he'd probably be talking, because he always did, words of encouragement, making sure he knew he liked it. His hand reaching out to tangle in green hair, trying to be gentle, as he held his face against his-

Jack yanked himself away from the image, harder than the last. Blue eyes snapped open and he stared at the ceiling again, his breathing hard and heavy. Fuck, that was . . . what was he doing? So wrong, so very, very, wrong, and yet he was so painfully turned on, straining against his jeans, gasping from nothing but his imagination. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard without touching himself.

Fuck, he couldn't leave it. He couldn't ignore it, he'd let it go too far now. It had just happened so fast, he couldn't catch it in time. With shaking hands, Jack reached for his jeans, finding the little zipper tag, pulling slowly, like he was worried if he moved too quick, he'd break something.

The rasp of the zipper was far too loud in this very quiet room. Jack felt the heat shoot to his face, and he had to close his eyes, taking a few slow breaths to calm himself, wondering why he didn't take it as a wake up call and stop this madness, even as he pulled himself from his boxers, shoving his pants down below his knees. It felt wrong to do this with the light on, but he couldn't move from his spot.

He ran his hand over his cock once, slow and deliberate, just testing the feeling. Pleasure shot through him, washing over him with a wave of relief as his strained body sensed the release it needed so badly. A little sound escaped his throat, shame and need mixed into one, and he shut his eyes tighter.

_"That's it, baby."_

The voice came unbidden, not perfect, but so close. He could imagine the feel of Mark's arms wrapping around him from behind, not touching him, just holding him as he touched himself. The warmth of the pillow behind him turned into the warmth of the American, and he pressed back against it, shame rushing through him. It was so easy to imagine. Mark made it so easy.

He didn't want to keep going. He was crossing a line he could never go back from, staining something that he loved and cherished so much. And yet, it was like he was just coming towards this . . . inevitability. Like there was no way to avoid this. Like it was always going to happen, and he was just stalling it.

And god, his body didn't want to wait.

His hand stroked slowly over his cock again, one smooth sweep, his eyes shut tight, the image of Mark behind him, holding him, watching him, so clear in his mind's eye. He'd have a little smile on his face, his eyes would be dark, full of pleasure, as they followed Jack's hand over his strained flesh.

He started into a rhythm, slowly, gasping as he went, still struggling to remember how to breathe as his imaginary Mark rested his head on his shoulder, whispering little endearments into his ear.

 _"Slow, baby, slow,"_ His voice the same rumble from the world's quietest let's play, right into his ear instead of the microphone, for him instead of the fans. _"Yeah, that's it. Fuck, that's it."_

Jack was shaking, his breathing hiked up, his toes curl as he pumped faster, lost in the feeling, the imagery, the sounds, coming unbidden.

_"You gonna cum for me?"_

Jacked whined. He wanted to pull away again - it was too much, like the sun, too intense and he couldn't handle it - but his body wouldn't let him. His hand stroked his length on its own, his hips rising to meet the strokes, his muscles straining, shaking, his breath choking in his throat, before coming out in a raspy moan. So wrong, so good but so wrong, Mark wouldn't say these things and yet Jack could hear them so clearly in his mind. He could _see_ him, behind his eyelids, dark eyes, crooked smile, watching him like he wanted to devour him.

"Fuck, _Mark_ ," he gasped out, quick, barely audible, before the world whited out for him. For a moment, it was like he was being electrocuted - too intense, his muscles seizing hard - before the pleasure washed through him, better than anything he'd felt in a while. He groaned deep in his throat, his back arching, his toes curling at the delicious feeling as he rode through his orgasm, learning to breathe all over again.

And as he came down from that high, he was left staring at the hotel room ceiling, the silence of the room pressing in around him as he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First real smut I've written in a while, hopefully it's up to par ;)
> 
> Thanks for the support everyone!


	6. Laser Tag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all, took a quick break to write a Dark/Jack thing, because the perversions hit me. Back now :)
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all of the amazing support I've been getting so far. I really appreciate it, it's what keeps me going, haha.

Jack tugged the vest tighter across his chest, adjusting his straps to a more comfortable position as he watched Ethan struggle to get his on. Tyler paused in his own adjustments to help, and Mark was talking a mile a minute as he picked up his gun. Wade and Molly were already fully outfitted, standing near the entrance and laughing as they hefted their weapons, obviously eager to get started.

"Wait, is this . . . is this right?" he asked, as he tugged at the vest and looked across to Mark, comparing their attire. "Do I have this on backwards?"

Mark's attention snapped to him immediately, and he watched as the American's hands came to rest on his shoulders without thought, a finger crooking under one of the vest straps as he examined him with a critical eye.

"Wait, turn around, lemme see."

Jack was pretty sure the American was oblivious to how much he touched. He was a very hands on person, to say the least, and seemed to take comfort in touching, especially his friends. He'd first noticed it during their PAX Prime panel, when, with near every question, Mark had found some excuse to put his hand on Jack's shoulder. Unsettling for him at first, as he was unsure how to respond to him (he was still hopelessly enamored at that time), but he'd quickly come to realize it was a comforting gesture for Mark. Towards others, yes, but especially for him - like touching someone else grounded him in a moment, made him feel more secure. And Jack had come to appreciate it as an integral part of who he was.

It took on a whole new cast, of course, after you imagined those hands holding you through an orgasm.

Jack spread his arms, giving Mark plenty of room, as the red-haired man fiddled with his outfit. It was fairly heavy, clunky, and it had been so long since Jack had played laser-tag, he wasn't sure if it was supposed to be this awkward.

The idea had been spur of the moment. Today was supposed to be pretty chill, maybe some shopping if they felt like it (Jack always liked to pick up a few things while he was over here), and then dinner with everyone that evening, before Jack had to catch his plane tomorrow. But then Tyler had made an off-handed comment when he and Mark came to pick him up, something about how they should try to get together for some airsoft next time Jack was over, and Mark had run with it, excited, determined to try to set something up in the limited time they had left, because he was Mark, and that's just what he did. It had been cemented when they swung by to get Ethan, and Catherine had mentioned laser tag being easier to set up on the fly.

Within an hour, Mark had a group for a round of laser tag - Ethan, Tyler, Jack, Wade, Molly, Tyler's friend Erica, and Ethan's friends Mike and Cody. Bob and Mandy had plans for the day, though they'd see them tonight for dinner.

Laser tag wasn't exactly Jack's idea of a perfect day, but he enjoyed it well enough, and with Mark's undeniable energy bouncing around in the car, it had been impossible to deny him.

Plus, it was a nice . . . distraction . . . from the Twitter-storm.

"Nah, I'm- I'm pretty sure that's right," Mark said, his voice hitching up high as he tugged on the straps around him, making some final adjustments. "Oh, wait, lemme untwist you."

Deft fingers slipped along Jacks hip, pulling the strap there out, unhooking it, untwisting it. His shirt pulled up in the process, the cool air of the room splashing over the exposed skin there, and Jack shivered but remained where he was, letting Mark do his work.

It had been strangely easier to do that today. Which hadn't been what he expected, to say the least. The world should look a lot different after you masturbate to thoughts of your friend, and yet Jack found his heart racing less and less with each touch from him. It was more . . . comfortable. The thoughts were still there, flashing through his mind with each errant touch or crooked smile, just as . . . dirty . . . as before. But they felt less wrong somehow. Or maybe they just bothered him less. Like swimming in cool water - when you were still dry, each touch of the water felt shocking, icy, your mind telling you you shouldn't expose yourself to that. But once you dove in, your body got used to it, and it felt better. Not perfect - there were still moments that got him - but easier.

He shouldn't feel relieved by that. The ends did _not_ justify the means. But . . . well, he only had the one day left. And it was nice to not be in a constant panic over it while he tried to enjoy the time he still had with his friends. If that meant he didn't recoil at the idea of fucking Mark, then so be it.

  


* * *

  


Jack leaned against the grunge-painted half wall, waiting for the obnoxious beeping to fade from his vest, and the lights to return to the safe blue, gun useless in his hands. Frustration bubbled in his chest as he shoved away from his hiding place, darting through the maze on light feet, catching a brief glimpse of a maniacal-looking Erica as she chased after Ethan.

Goddamn Wade. He'd made himself a snipers nest, darting between two of the three towers in the room, and it was proving impossible to get the bastard out of there. He was a damn good shot, with a great vantage point, and everybody else was too busy shooting on sight to really pose any threat to him at this point. And with Molly posing as a solid distraction, darting out to get anyone who got too close, they were having a pretty rough time trying to beat him.

Jack could probably build up a fair number of points if he kept focusing on everyone still running around down on ground level - he'd been doing pretty well in the other rounds they'd played - but there was no way he could win. Wade was too far ahead at this point. The round was half over, and the only chance he had was to flush the bastard out of his little safe-zone, and hope he could run him out of hit points before the round ended.

Jack slipped through one of the "windows" into a little hall section, trying to split his attention behind and in front of him, which was much harder than it looked. Maybe if he could get right to the base of Wade's current tower, come up right under him. Then he couldn't get him multiple times before he even got to him, with no line of site. He could see Molly over on the other tower, trying to catch Tyler, who was just a little too big for his current hiding place. He might have a chance. But he'd have to move quick.

His eyes were up, watching Wade as he leaned out to try to shoot someone on the other side, when he passed the open doorway, oblivious to the hands as they darted out to catch him.

He felt the tug on his shirt, someone's fist balled up in the center of his back as the other hand came around to wrap about his waist, pulling him back bodily. A shout of surprise was on his lips as he was dragged back through the doorway, into the dark little corner, away from the other's view. But a rough hand caught it before it escaped, slapping over his mouth as the arm at his waist pulled him flush with another person.

"Shhh," a voice hissed in his ear, and for a moment he almost fought him, an elbow raised to jab into his ribs, before he heard the words. "Alright, Jackaboy."

It was like all the fight went right out of him, his muscles relaxing like puddy into the warm frame behind him.

"We gotta beat Wade," Mark murmured into his ear, and Jack felt his stomach do a little roll as he felt the warm breath on the exposed skin there, a flashback to the water park flitting through his mind. He could feel Mark's chest plate digging into the plastic on his own back, could feel it dig deeper with each of the man's breaths, and couldn't care less. The game had faded to background noise in a heartbeat, and he had to struggle to absorb Mark's words.

"And we're not gonna do that on our own. So I figure, you and me, maybe we go beat him together."

He hadn't released him yet. Jack laid his head back against the other's shoulder, blue eyes coming up to find Mark's face, startling close, looking out towards the doorway as he watched the sliver of action they could see from their hiding spot. Jack couldn't care less right now. He should move. He should make Mark let him go, remove the hand covering his mouth, let them talk at a normal distance, because this couldn't be healthy for his current mindset. But he couldn't find the energy.

Mark's eyes darted down to catch Jack's, just a moment, and it felt weird, Jack leaned back onto him, his back having to curve around their clunky equipment, head on his shoulder, closer than they should be. And yet, if Mark thought so, he didn't show it.

"You in?"

He didn't move his hand. Jack just nodded, and tried not to press further against him, tried not acknowledge how warm his arm felt around him, or how much he _liked_ this. Just another thing he'd need to address when he wasn't trying to enjoy the little time he had left with Mark.

"Alright." Mark's head whipped back up to squint out the doorway, a hint of that goofy concentration face he got in his expression, and Jack felt his chest tighten with a little pang. He ignored that too. "So we'll have to distract him . . ."

He rolled into a plan without hesitation, stopping to correct himself, or fix it on the fly, without a single bit of input from Jack, his brow pulled together in concentration as he planned his assault.

Never did he move to release him. His arm stayed stubbornly about his waist, squeezing just a little, like he was scared he was gonna drop, and that one hand still clasped over his mouth, thumb to the side so he could breathe with ease. It was close, closer than those damning pictures, close enough to get far too familiar with Mark, in the dark, alone.

Jack tried to stop the blood feverishly rushing to areas that didn't need any more attention, thank you very much.

"Sound good?" The hand finally fell away from Jack's mouth, and he took a deep breath, wincing at the little noise his throat made, dangerously close to a sound of pleasure. Mark was looking back down at him again, eyes bright, excited to put his plan into action, and Jack hoped his blush wasn't visible in the dim lights.

"Yep."

His voice cracked, just a little, but audible, and he swallowed, trying to get his thoughts back under control.

Mark lingered just a moment, his eyes searching Jack's face, like he was looking for something there, and Jack tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, suddenly terrified. Had he fucked up? Had Mark seen?

But then the red-haired man was grinning, his arm tightening around him again, one last time, before he released him, grabbed his gun, and started slinking towards the doorway with a low "Let's do this."

"Let's do this," Jack echoed, his voice still sounding squeaky to him, and followed his friend out, trying to ignore how cool his back felt now.

  


* * *

  


They beat Wade. And Jack was pretty sure he'd need a cold shower before they went to dinner tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May be a little slower in the future. Got some serious projects going on at work, so just a heads up.


	7. Friends

Jack leaned against the doorframe, his luggage at his feet, a little smile on his face as his eyes trace the woodwork of the little table, the one with the Bowl of Stuff on it, that bowl (or basket, or drawer) that everyone keeps near their front door for throwing odds and ends in when you've just come home. He can see several sets of keys, and probably several dollars worth of change, and somebody's wallet, though he can't take a guess at who's. But the table is what's really nice. It's real wood, dark stain with a nice shine to it, and elegant lines that arc across the legs gracefully without making it look like it should be untouched in a mansion instead of someone's home. Beautiful but usable.

It fit the house.

"TYYYYYYLER!" Ethan's voice was surprisingly loud in the small space, echoing up the staircase as he hollered after his friend, good-natured impatience in his voice. "TYLERRRR, WE'RE WAAAAAAITIIINNNNG."

Jack could hear the man's booming response from up the stairs, but didn't really pay attention to what was said. His eyes were still tracing the wood, the little smile still playing on his lips, wondering who had bought it. Was it Mark? Or had he hired a decorator? Or maybe it was one of the other friends, somebody with good tastes, somebody who knew him well.

It felt weird to just be sitting here, waiting now. The morning of his departure was always hectic, Jack keeping himself busy with last minute packing, and dashing around to say goodbye to everyone. But most of the goodbyes had been said last night at dinner, and he was already packed, having gathered all of his things and cleared out his hotel room hours ago.

He hadn't originally planned to leave from Mark's house - it was on the way to the airport, but there hadn't really seemed to be a reason to - but Mark had insisted on getting one last video out of him before he left, whining that he hadn't had enough opportunity to use his face for views.

And Jack, being incapable of turning him down, had caved to him.

The morning had been hectic, rushing to get there early, record their video - just a vlog, really, though they did talk about gaming during - and make sure Mark had everything he wanted from him before it was time to head to the airport. The plan was for Tyler to take him, which was one of the reasons he had agreed. He hated taking rides with random strangers.

But now it was just waiting, waiting around for Tyler to be done, his stuff already packed and by the door, goodbyes already said, Mark run off to go take care of something, and it was just him and Ethan, standing by the door, waiting.

Jack wasn't sure exactly what to do with himself.

"I can get an Uber or somethin', yeh know," he reiterated for the thousandth time, the idea unsavory to say the least, but he wasn't about to impose on his friends any more than he needed to. Tyler was apparently busier than he'd expected, and Ethan and Kathryn had videos to edit, just about ready to head over to the office, and Mark surely had mountains of work to do after he had slacked off with his friends for so long. He'd enjoyed his stay. It had been fun . . . if a little confusing . . . and one ride with a stranger wasn't going to change that.

"What, who's getting an Uber?"

Mark's voice made his eyes shoot up, locking on the male's form as he strolled into the room, a folder in one hand. Jack did his best to ignore the way his stomach coiled at just the sight of him.

"Tyler's taking too long," Ethan complained, though Jack could tell there was no ill-will there. The three of them had obviously become fast friends since he had been here last, and Jack was glad Mark had found people like this to surround himself with.

"He's just busier than he thought," Jack explained quickly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's fine, if he can't, I can just-"

"I gotchu," Mark said suddenly, cutting him off. He flipped the folder he was holding onto the little curved table, leaning forward to step into his shoes without looking down. "I can take you."

"You have work to do, Mark!" a voice shot from above them, and Jack looked up to see Kathryn walking by, a cup of coffee clasped in between her palms.

"Nah, I can do it when I get back" Mark shot back easily, grabbing his keys and grinning at Jack, making little crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

Jack opened his mouth in surprise, struggling to find the words for a second. "No, yeh don't have ta do that, Mark-"

"Nah, it's no problem." He was already leaning down to snatch up one of Jack's bags, slinging it over his shoulder with ease. "Come on."

  


* * *

  


It had been a long time since Jack had been alone in a car with Mark. It was so rare for the Irishman to be in America for anything other than a convention, and then he was either alone, or surrounded by his friends. Even on this trip, he couldn't really remember a time when it had just been him and Mark alone. There was always an Ethan or Tyler or Bob there.

And Mark taking him to the airport on his own . . . well, that was more than a little unexpected. Mark was a great friend, sweet and considerate, and always happy to help. But he was also incredibly busy. If it wasn't a group outing for something, there really wasn't a reason for them to go out together alone, especially trying to find time for that in Mark's crazy schedule.

And he _knew_ he was busy. He had so many other things he could be doing right now. It would have been so much easier to just let Tyler take him, or let him call a ride. As it was, he was undoubtably going to be up late tonight working.

Jack could feel his chest tightening again, gratitude and guilt making an uncomfortable mix there.

"So, worth coming across the pond?"

Jack looked over at the red-haired man, blue eyes blinking in surprise. They'd been silent for a while now, comfortably listening to music and thinking their own thoughts, and Jack had thought that was probably how most of the ride was going to go.

Still, he laughed easily at the question, not regretting the break in the silence.

"Oh, always," he answered eagerly, a little grin on his face as he leaned back in his seat. Brief flashes of the trip flitted through his mind: hopping up onto the stage for a panel, skipping the steps to beat the others. Bob joking over dinner, Mark choking on his meal as he laughed. Wade's face when they had double teamed him in the tower, catching him off guard while Molly was off chasing Tyler. Mark laughing at some joke. Ethan ducking behind Tyler to dodge sunscreen globs. Mark's hand pressed against the glass of the tube, reassuring him before they fell. The exhilaration of the fall. The pictures. Mark's warm body behind him.

He tried to keep his stomach from curling, tried to ignore the less . . . savory things. It had been a good trip. A fun one. Even despite the . . . weirdness. He could feel the usual pang in his chest at the idea of leaving his friends, going back to his quiet apartment, his quiet life. He didn't hate it. He liked the peace, liked yelling into his empty room at the camera, feeling like he was yelling to an arena of people through the little lens, and liked how he could just shut it off and be alone when he was done. But there was something about being here that always had his blood pumping, always left him a little . . . hollow when he left.

He'd have plenty of memories to keep him going when he got home, though. That excitement gauge of his was full to the brim, and it wouldn't be a problem to live off of that for a while, rationing it out between now and the next convention.

It seemed a long way off.

"Yeah, I," Mark stopped to clear his throat, and shot a little smile Jack's way. Easy. Comfortable. Like always. "I really appreciate you coming down to see me, too."

"Well, I was right there, Mark," Jack laughed, ignoring the fact that they had spent the entire con together, knowing it didn't really count. That was publicity time. Hanging out at the house, that had been friends time. "Not like I was gonna miss out on that opportunity.

Mark flashed a quick grin, glancing behind him before changing lanes. "Yeah, well, I appreciate it. It's good to see you." His voice was quiet, soft, and Jack could hear the seriousness there. His chest tightened again, and he couldn't stop the little smile that crept up his face, knowing Mark was having one of those quick, genuine moments. He didn't hesitate, didn't feel weird at all, as he slipped his hand out onto Mark's shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's good ta see yeh too, buddy." And then, because it was so easy, and comfortable, and right, he added. "We gotta do this more often."

"Yeah," Mark answered, and there was a little crack to his voice. "Hey, actually . . ."

Jack looked up, examining his friends face, watching the way his brow curled in just a little, how his lips pursed, that face he made when he was thinking. Brown eyes flashed to him, and then quickly back to the road.

"So, you know we have that charity livestream first week in October?"

"Yeah?"

"Well . . ." Mark seemed to struggle for a moment, and Jack watched him curiously, oblivious, not knowing where he was going with this, despite the obvious signs. "Well, I was wondering . . . or thinking . . . maybe, you'd wanna come down for that?"

"Oh," Jack said dumbly, the surprise obvious in his voice. That was, what . . . maybe 6 weeks away? Pretty short heads up compared to what he usually got for an America trip. And for Mark's charity livestream? They had been getting progressively bigger, better, all day events that Mark poured himself into for weeks before hand. He knew how special they were to him. Jack had been with him for one, a Pewdiepie Christmas stream, but other than that, he'd never . . .

"That's . . . yeh want me in it?" There was something close to awe in his voice, though he wasn't sure why. It was technically just another video. They were in lots of videos together. He'd stayed at his house, did videos with him there. But this felt . . . different.

"Yeah, I mean, I've been meaning to try to get you in one for a while, and this one's for such a great cause- I mean they all are, but this one is really great, and I just kept forgetting to ask you, so . . . "

Mark's eyes darted to look at him again, quick but taking in Jack's expression, lips parted, eyebrows up, eyes a little wide. Just a little speechless. "I mean, you don't have to, I know it's short notice, I just-"

"No, no, I . . ." Jack racked his brain, trying to think of his plans for the coming months. He'd need to stockpile videos again, and this would mean a lot of planning with Mark for the next few weeks, and lots of hype required, and it was a lot to take on, but . . .

He turned to look at his friend head on. "I'd love ta.

Mark's smile could honestly blind someone. He hoped the drivers around them were wearing sunglasses.

"Hey, I mean, you don't have to commit now, you can go, like . . . check your schedule when you get home, and just, you know, lemme know either way sometime this week."

"Yeah, I'll let you know." A moment of silence passed between them, and Jack took the time to try to process the little giddy feeling in his chest. It would mean lots of work ahead. But also lots of time with Mark. Another trip back to the States, but he'd probably be staying with the American.

The idea had him strangely excited. He tried to ignore some of the possible reasons why.

"Thank you," Jack said, his voice a little soft, genuine. He really meant it. It seemed strange that he had come all this way with the man next to him. From fanning at a distance, to being a close friend. It was just so . . . easy. Easy and right.

"Hey, no problem man, you're doing me a favor," Mark said quickly, his eyes fixed on the road. "And, you know, it . . . it means a lot to me, that you're willing to do this. You're a . . . you're a good friend, and . . . I'm glad I have you."

His voice broke, and Jack looked back to the road, trying to give him a moment of privacy, not that he really needed it. He cried in front of millions all the time. He was an emotional man by nature. And Jack didn't fault him for that. The hand on his shoulder slipped over to the other side, wrapping his arm around him, holding him there for a moment and just trying to convey the feeling, the bond they had. One of Mark's hands came off the wheel, shifting over to grab Jack's shoulder, readjusting a few times to find a grip that wasn't awkward.

"I'm glad, too," Jack said softly, and did his best to ignore the shame and guilt slowly seeping into his stomach as he remembered what a shitty friend he'd been this trip. He'd make it up to him. He'd be better for the livestream, get his act together between now and then. His fingers bit into Mark's shoulder harder than they needed to, but the American didn't seem to mind.

They spent the rest of the ride in relative quiet, just enjoying each other's presence before Jack had to leave.


	8. Oblivious*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, you beautiful people who for some reason like my work. And who are also strangely patient. You keep me going ;)
> 
> WARNING: explicit het porn scene incoming

Jack lay back, leaning against the headboard, his right hand flicking lazily through the selection of videos as his left absently stroked his semi-hard length. He'd been at it for over twenty minutes now, a touch of frustration starting to seep into his movements as he searched the unending list, looking for something of interest.

He'd started on something good. Or, at least, he thought it was good. A new video, with a busty secretary teasing her employer. Not exactly original, but it would get the job done, and that's all he was looking for at that point. It wasn't really a spur of the moment thing, where he was looking for something particular. It was more . . . routine. Wake up, shower, bite to eat, check emails, do some editing, record something, wank, more editing, upload, dinner. It kept his life normal. Comfortable.

But then, it had been getting increasingly difficult over the last few weeks to find something that got him going. He'd watched the secretary video for a few, jumping ahead a few times, trying to find something that got the blood flowing. But it wasn't really . . . doing it for him today. So he stopped, and went on the search for something else, anything else, anything that could get him at least up enough to have a quick wank.

He could always stop, of course. He could feel the irritated energy building up in his chest as he glanced dully over the video thumbnails, all looking somehow mechanical to him. If he wasn't into it, there was no reason to force it.

Well, no reason he really wanted to admit to. He'd just given up on several occasions before, right when porn was starting to lose its effectiveness. Hey, more time to do other things, no mess to clean up, worked for him. But then, he'd started to notice it. The errant thoughts. The way his mind would flicker to specific topics, and then those topics would get him started, and he'd pop a boner at the most inopportune time. And if he tried to take care of it then, there was always a certain undercurrent of thoughts that he didn't want mixing with his masturbation sessions.

Honestly, best to just keep to his schedule, get one off and not have to worry about it for the rest of the day. Like a task on his daily list.

When had this literally become a chore?

Jack sat back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might be enough. Maybe he had to go kinkier? Get into some things he wasn't quite as numb too? Although, that wasn't exactly a long list. He'd gone through exploration phases, especially in his teenage years. He knew what he liked, and what he didn't. The chances of finding something that would be surprising and original were pretty slim at this point. And he didn't want to have to spend more time on this than he needed. There were plenty of other things that needed his attention more than his cranky cock.

Maybe it was time to go back through his collection? Something tried and true, but maybe he hadn't watched recently? He was looking back at the screen now, a little look of irritation on his face as he kept scrolling, the thumbnails starting to blur out as he thought. It would be so much easier if he could just use his imagination like he used to. Porn was fine and all, but it started to get pretty same-y after a point, and everything just started to blur together. Seen one teacher giving her student a blowjob, you'd seen them all. Well, not necessarily. Sometimes you found someone with better expression, or better movement, or just looked right for what you were into, and that was nice.

But what he'd really liked was when he found something that interested him, that kicked that little spark up, and then he'd just spin his own fantasy off of that, with _exactly_ what he wanted, the imagery from the videos helping to enhance it instead of drive it. It was the easiest way to get him going, with a, like, 98% success rate.

And he was not about to risk that again. His mind was not in the right place to just be conjuring fantasies of its own free will. He'd learned that lesson.

Jack's fingers slowed on the mouse, his brows coming together as he glanced at a thumbnail. The title was pretty typical (PETITE BRUNETTE TEASES HER BOYFRIEND), and he wasn't sure what exactly made him pause. But he wasn't about to be picky. It was the first video to give him pause in 15 minutes, and he was willing to give it a shot.

The video came up, and it wasn't wasting any time. No gratuitous shots of the young girl leaning over various pieces of furniture, or walking down the stairs, or making pancakes or something. She was already on her knees in front of a gray couch, a little smile on her face as she trailed delicate fingers up the man's legs. She was startling attractive, not the usual porn star look, more the gentle girl next door look. Big doe eyes, short-cropped hair, dimples, cute nose. She was shirtless, in a lacy bralette, and wearing those torn off denim shorts that were more denim panties than pants. Jack leaned back, letting out a slow breath as he relaxed into the soft chair.

"Hi baby," she said softly, and flashed a smile, a little bigger this time, almost nervous. Her hands had run up the man's jeans, coming to rest on his hips, pressing there gentling, lingering, but not quite getting as close as he obviously wanted. He pressed his hips up against her, just a little, the outline of his excitement already obvious.

There. That'd work. His hand resumed it's work, slowly, palm soft from the lube, warm from the contact, and he sighed, contented. The girl was working his pants open, slowly, taking her time, keeping eye contact. One of those slim hands slipped under his waist band, tugging, her lip caught in her teeth as her victim groaned under her. One thick arm came up to rest on her shoulder, rough hand pressing against skin as he murmured encouragements, and she giggled, soft, light.

She really dragged it out, working him free of his jeans, but not touching, not yet. Those delicate fingers traced careful outlines over his boxers, feather light touches, and he was obviously having trouble keeping still, shifting, hushed sounds of frustration from off-screen lips. She released him to the air, and drank the sight in, licking her lips, eyes bright and hungry. Lips pursed, and she blew softly across his tip, earning a deep groan from her captive, before leaning in to give it a little kiss.

Jack was already short of breath, his hand working faster at his suddenly very interested dick. Twenty minutes of searching, but wow this was worth it. Maybe another favorite to add to his collection.

She took him in slowly, her tongue swiping slowly across him before her lips wrapped ever so carefully around his length, drawing him in with aching slowness. He was groaning again, his hand trailing up to her short hair, tangling there, but gently, the other fisted on the couch beside him, the muscles in his arm bulging as he tensed, trying not to drive up and fuck her mouth, like he so obviously wanted to do. She was obviously driving him insane. Jack wished they'd get a better camera shot, gritting his teeth a little in frustration as they zoomed in closer to her face, cutting out everything but her face and the dick in her mouth, even the hand twisted in her hair invisible now. The male was obviously doing his best to keep quiet, and the little moans she was making were starting to drown out any little noise that slipped, and okay, maybe this wouldn't go in his favorites if they didn't want to give the guy even a little bit of attention-

Jack froze, his hand stilling over his aching shaft as the realization flooded over him. They _had_ zoomed out, just for a moment, to get a shot of her ass in those too-short jeans as she bobbed, and as they came back up, he could see her victim a little better. The victim he had seem in the thumbnail, the thick build and olive skin and that deep voice as he groaned.

Like Mark.

Jack snapped to click out of the tab, his breath hitching in his throat as blood pounded in his ears. That was why he had liked the video? That?! Not the stunning girl, or the amazing blowjob she was giving him, or the way she sounded so sweet as she moaned around him, but because the guy she was going down on looked like his friend?

He felt sick. He had been getting over this. He swore he was. He _swore_ he wasn't thinking about it anymore, _swore_ he didn't have passing thoughts about it in the shower, _swore_ he hadn't stopped to look at the guy in the grocery store because he looked like Mark. He was getting better. He had to be. He was seeing Mark in less than three weeks, he had to get this out of his system before then. He wasn't about to make another trip that awkward, not when Mark was so excited to see him, not when he was going there for a _fucking charity livestream_. He was not going to ruin this.

And yet, he could still feel the way his dick was pulsing in his palm, eager and oblivious to the awful thing he was doing, just wanting the sensation and the thoughts of the groaning man.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? He'd tried so hard to ignore this, tried _so hard_ to get rid of this perversion, just push it right out of his head and never think about it again.

But it hadn't worked. At all. It was always there, in the back of his head, just waiting for that perfect opportunity. It was Mark that popped into his mind when he hadn't jerked off in a while, Mark he imagined touching him when he was letting his imagination roam. Always Mark.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears that suddenly wanted to well up in their place. What was he supposed to do? How did he fix this? Could he still fix this?

Why had it happened in the first place? It wasn't fair. Three years of friendship and he'd never made things with Mark awkward. Three years and he'd never been attracted to the man. He wasn't attracted to men _at all_. He had already proven that, on several occasions.

But . . . that had been a while now. Years back. And . . . people changed. Tastes changed. Maybe . . . maybe he was just going through . . . like, a period of some sort? Maybe he had some . . . deeper . . . homosexual feelings built up somewhere, and he was just pointing them towards Mark because he was the closest attractive male he felt comfortable with?

He blanched at the idea. He'd never been interested in men. He hated seeing them naked, hated the way they smelled, hated how rough they were. He wanted soft skin under his hands, sweet voices, pretty faces. He liked women, he loved them, the way they smelled, the way they talked, the way they laughed. It was just right. Men were too . . . manly.

And yet, here he was, another erection at the idea of Mark.

Which was worse, being attracted to men, or being attracted to Mark?

How would he even sleep with him if he wanted to?

The thought made him shudder, the answer immediately clear, because he wasn't that oblivious. He either topped . . . or didn't. Either way, there was really only one option there. And he wasn't comfortable with it. How anyone could be was beyond him. He didn't even like anal with women, why would he be okay with it if it was a guy?

And yet . . .

Well, he wasn't really that against anal, was he? He watched it enough in porn, just not in person. And . . . well, there were girls who didn't seem to hate it. Liked it, even. And it was supposed to be different for men. Stronger. More intense. David had seemed really excited at the idea of trying it . . .

Jack took a deep breath, staring at his browser, a knot in his throat, considering. He could always . . . research. Figure this out. Maybe it wasn't an attraction to Mark. Maybe it was just . . . latent gayness, or a second round of bi-curiousness, or . . . something. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system, actually address it instead of ignoring it. Maybe if he explored it . . . maybe, he could figure this all out, and not make things quite so awkward.

Jack swallowed, quick, before leaning forward and opening a new incognito window. He pulled up the search engine, his fingers hovering over the keys, hesitating, wondering what the fuck he was doing with his life, before typing with trembling hands.

God, he was such a sinner.


	9. Planning

"So. Donator requests," Mark said, a little frown on his face as he stared down at the notebook on his desk, pen pressed to his lip, a little crease between his brows that Jack refused to label "adorable." They'd been in the call for more than two hours now, Ethan's eyes drifting as his attention span started to run out, Tyler looking as deadpan as ever, Kathryn's fingers furiously typing across her keyboard, silent behind her mute. It hadn't meant to be a long call, and everyone was starting to get tired.

Everyone except Jack. He sat in his vibrant chair, propped forward, staring hungrily into the screen at the familiar faces. He hadn't expected to be so happy to see them all. When Ethan had pinged him, Jack had dropped everything to rush into the call, excitement coursing through him at the idea of seeing the little blue-haired bastard, despite their limited relationship. He'd wanted to go over an idea he and Tyler had, just a vague kind of "let's chat real quick" thing, just a few minutes. No big deal. They'd actually been talking a fair bit recently, what with planning the livestream and all, and Jack was happy to take some late night time to indulge them.

But then they'd had a question for Kathryn. And she'd joined. And it had turned into a proper planning session, and they couldn't have one of those without Mark, and it had just gotten out of hand.

Jack's computer told him it was just a little past 1AM, and he could honestly care less. There were still plenty of things he'd be up doing at this time anyway - sleep was, of course, for the weak - and this was far better a way to spend his time than anything he could imagine just then. The livestream was less than two weeks away now, and the planning had gotten serious, fleshing out what exactly they'd be doing, getting the schedule right, making lists of supplies. Jack ate it up, happy to throw himself into the work, excited to plan and prep, excited to be a part of it.

Maybe a little more excited to see Mark than he should be, but that was just the way it was going to be.

Despite all of his efforts in the "ignore it and it'll go away" camp of thinking, addressing his weird sudden infatuation with Mark appeared to have been exactly what he needed to get past his crippling sexual anxiety around his friend. He could look him straight on now, no blush, no awful thoughts twisting through his belly like a knife, no constant fear that he was going to make this weird and fuck up everything.

Now he just knew he'd take the opportunity to sleep with him if he could.

Jack would have thought that knowledge would crush him, would ruin any ability he had to speak to the man, ruin the comfort he felt around him, twist him up with guilt inside. Hell, just the thought that that might _possibly_ be the case had been enough to wreck him a week ago. But it just . . . hadn't. He'd stared at the screen on the third night of his "research", eyes tracing the line's of Mark's body in an old picture, his mind still racing through the last scene he'd watched. And he'd just . . . accepted it. Like a puzzle piece just falling into place. If given the chance, he would probably . . . try . . . sleeping with Mark. He'd tried that stupid water slide. What more did he have to be afraid of?

Well, losing his friend was still on the table. But it wasn't like he was going to initiate this anyway. This wasn't some active goal that he was taking strides towards now. He wasn't about to march right up and proposition him. This was just . . . knowledge. Acceptance. And it made him feel strangely better, despite everything.

Actually picturing it was still far too much for him to handle. He could barely handle softcore gay porn, no way could he picture actually doing . . . something . . . with him. Not without turning into a literal tomato. And needing a very cold shower. But he could be comfortable enough with . . . touching him. Just enjoying the idea of his warmth. Maybe a . . . was "hug" still the right word when it wasn't just a hug?

"But how do we give everyone a fair chance at requests without getting flooded?" Mark was still frowning down at the paper, lips parted slightly to tug at the pen in his hand. Jack's eyes flickered to Tyler, watching as he ran a weary hand under his beanie, smoothing back his hair before replacing it. It was the question they'd been going back and forth on for days now - the idea of letting donators make requests for what they wanted to see during the actual livestream. Nice in theory, but in practice . . .

"We could just make a minimum donation line for it, like the name thing."

"No, see, I don't want you to have to spend a certain amount to get it. The little donations add up more than anything, so we want to encourage those as much as we can."

"What about like a radio game? Every 20th donation or something?"

"Is that too many?"

"And wouldn't that just make people split their donations up? Just make 10 $3 donations instead of one $30?"

"Maybe, but it might make people keep trying past what they were going to donate. Like gambling."

"Maybe . . ."

The was silence for a moment, everyone considering, before Ethan spoke up again.

"Yeah, but how would we keep track of it?"

Mark frowned. "We'd need at least one person just for that."

"Probably two."

"Would everyone be able to see?"

"Well, yeh'd see on Tiltify, wouldn't yeh?"

"Wait, well, what happens if someone makes a bad request? Do we just go to the one after them?"

"Oh, yeah, that's a whole 'nother thing."

"Okay, let's stop there," Kathryn cut in suddenly, the sound of her keyboard clicking away for a moment before she turned all of her attention to them. "It's late for Jack, and Ethan and I still have a lot of work to do."

"Ah, yeah, it's been like, an hour."

"It's been two and half, Mark."

"Oh," and his cheeks reddened as he laughed. "Whoops."

Jack grinned, and didn't second guess why his chest tightened at the sight. This wasn't so hard, really. It was a crush - he'd finally calmed down enough to put a name on it - and crushes were . . . harmless. Well, they always had been in the past. He'd had crushes on female friends before. And they either turned into something, or they didn't. No relationships blew up just because he developed a crush. So how was this different? Just because it was with a man? That . . . well, yes, that was part of it. A big part, maybe. But it didn't have to be. He just had to calm down, go with the flow. He wasn't going to start anything, and even if he slipped up and did something weird, Mark was an incredible comfortable man, to say the least. It would probably take quite a lot to bother him.

Jack had really gotten to see that with the pictures. The ones from the water park, the ones that were far too intimate ~~and sexy~~ for Jack to feel comfortable looking at. They'd kind of broken Tumblr for a few days with that one. The fanbase Jack had presumed fairly well dead by that point had revived en mass, exploding with new squealing and fanart and a sickening amount of Septiplier "smut", if that was the right word for it. Which wouldn't have been so bad, because it was tumblr, and if that was going to happen somewhere, that was the place for it to happen. But it hadn't _stayed_ on Tumblr. It had spread out, to Twitter first, and then creeping into video comments, and for a little while, it was like there was no escaping the raging ship-boner the fans had seemed to pick up on.

And Jack had been mortified. Like all of his issues were suddenly shoved out into the open for all to see, and remind him of every chance they got, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Honestly, it was no wonder he hadn't been able to use the just-ignore-it method, because it was physically impossible to ignore it while still living on the same plane of existence.

And hell, even if he hadn't been right in the middle of an exestencial crysis about this very thing, he would have been fairly uncomfortable with it. Some of the art people were making was just . . . creepy. Unsettling. And he didn't want to get near the fan fictions with a ten-foot pole and a flamethrower. Having someone else create something depicting you doing something as intimate as _that_ , when you weren't even with the person they were going on about, when you weren't even interested in that _gender_ . . . it was unsettling to say the least.

But not to Mark. He skirted through it effortlessly, hardly batting an eye at the tidal wave of shipping that had taken over briefly. He didn't feed them. But he didn't shy away from it either. It was just . . . there for him. Someone would bring it up, and he'd laugh it off easily, make a joke, keep things light. The only time he brought it up himself to the fans was when he made an announcement asking fans to keep the NSFW content out of the main tags. And that was it. Nothing changed with him. Nothing changed with their relationship. It was just so . . . normal.

If that was how he acted with such an overboard fangasm, there was no way he'd be uncomfortable with Jack thinking he was attractive . . . right?

"Alright guys," Ethan's voice said, weary but still poppy, full of that buzzy young energy Jack was only just starting to come out of himself. He and Kathryn were saying their goodbyes, quick but hearty, reminding Jack to get some sleep before they dropped out. Tyler followed quickly behind, wanting to grab a bite to eat, and Jack was left alone with Mark, the red-haired man scribbling something on his notepad, his lips moving slowly along with whatever it was he was writing. Jack watched, a little grin on his face, and waited for him to be done.

Mark stopped after a moment, looking over his notes, his head slowly nodding in approval as he read.

"This is looking good," he said after another minute, and a little smile crept up his face as he glanced up at the screen, his eyes crinkling in at the corners, and Jack's grin split just a little further. "We're not usually this on top of things."

"Well, yeah, that's 'coz yeh ain't got me helpin'."

Mark laughed at that, giddy and a little loud, and nodded. "Yeah, Kathryn _loves_ you. You actually get shit done on time."

"It's not that hard, Mark. Just gotta stop sleeping."

"Hey, I like my sleep. I can't run on just, like, coffee or Monster or . . . wait, what do you run on?"

"The souls of the damned."

"Ah, yep, that explains it, I am fresh out of those."

They laughed and Jack enjoyed it, the tension that had wrecked him for weeks gone, bled out of him over the last few days as he finally came to terms with this. Easy. It could be easy with Mark.

"Aaaaah, whelp," Mark grabbed his wrist with his other hand and pulled it high over his head in a stretch, groaning a little when something popped, before turning back to the screen. "You know what's coming right?"

Jack cocked his head to the side, unsure of what he was referencing.

"Another week of planning and a twelve hour plane ride?"

"Well, yeah, but I meant the Septiplier shit."

"Oh."

And that was all he could say for a moment, because _fuck_ he hadn't even thought about that. It should have been obvious from the start. Duh. The fanbase was still pretty hyped, and they were getting ready to make the announcement that Jack was going to be in the livestream for the first time _ever_ , and they were possibly going to be taking _requests_ in that very same livestream, and _of course_ they were going to get ship requests.

Fuck. Why hadn't he realized that before? It was pretty fucking obvious now, and he had so little time to prepare for it. He'd managed to get through most of the squealing by tastefully ignoring most of it. But that might not be an option depending on how they did these requests. Very soon he might be stuck on a very live camera while acting out very real ship fodder with the g- . . . person . . . he was crushing on.

What would people ask for? Well, he knew what some people would ask for. But there was no way there'd be anything that crossed that . . . boundary. Nothing awful, no way, because Mark wouldn't make him do anything he was uncomfortable with, and he knew how far to push it . . . right?

Actually . . . this all came down to how much he trusted Mark. Because it would be Mark in control of the stream, and he'd decide what was okay to do, and what was going too far, and what they were both comfortable with. And that wasn't so bad, was it? He obviously knew what he was doing. He'd magicked his way through all of this like a fucking wizard, without making it weird or having to fight with his fans. It was amazing really. And if it was him deciding what was okay and what wasn't . . .

"Eh, it'll be fine." Jack was amazed by how normal his voice sounded as he shrugged, flipping his hand nonchalantly and trying not to make it obvious that he couldn't look him in the eye. He was still reeling, his heart racing, but his voice barely broke, even as he pushed the conversation into their usual crass patter. "It's not like we're gonna fuck on a livestream."

Mark grinned, laughing through his teeth, and Jack felt strangely winded at the sight.

"Oh, god, we'd make millions."

And Jack was laughing too, a little breathless, a little nervous, but genuine still, because it was better to talk easy like this than keep trying to ignore it. He did his best to cut Mark a disapproving look behind his snickers. "I'm not making a charity porno."

And then Mark was really laughing, that hissing laughter he did between his teeth, before he dropped his jaw and laughed in earnest, eyes squeeze shut, hair bouncing as he guffawed.

"Ahhh, that'll be the tag - #SeptiplierCharityPorno."

"Oh god," Jack groaned through his laughter, shaking his head and putting a hand over his face, blocking out the stupidity. "Yeah, fuckin', pornos for charity, that's what we need."

"That's just gonna be my new channel."

"Whelp. Yeh'd still make stupid amounts of money, I'm sure."

"Ahh, but no, seriously, we'll have to try to head that off some." Mark's eyes were soft, still full of laughter as twirled the pen in his hand. "I don't mind some, but we don't want anything extreme in there. Oh, well, I guess . . . I mean, _I_ don't mind having some in there, but, you know, if you're uncomfortable . . ."

"Nah, I'm fine." _Liar,_ a little voice in his head whispered, but he ignored it, because he was pretty sure he _was_ fine with it. Mark was fine with it, there was no reason he shouldn't be. "Like, nothing crazy, but I'm pretty . . . I mean, I'm comfortable with it."

"You sure? I mean, we haven't really had a chance to talk about it recently, and we can shut them down if we need to-"

"Nah, it's fine, don't need ta be startin' a war with the fans right at a livestream." Mark's eyes narrowed on him, and he opened his mouth like he was gonna say something, but Jack cut him off. "Mark, really, I'm good. I'm a big boy, I can handle some gayness in my life. Just . . . just assume I'm good with whatever you're good with. I'll tell ya otherwise."

Mark looked him over for a long moment before he finally cracked his mouth back into that crooked grin.

"Well, alrighty then. So we'll need to figure out some tasteful rules for the requests . . ."

Jack let him talk, leaning back in his chair, watching the lines of his face move and crinkle as he fleshed out the last of his thoughts, oblivious to his clock as it ticked another minute closer to 2AM. He'd be on a plane to see him soon, arriving two days before the stream - one to catch up on sleep, and one to help with the final preparations. It was coming up fast. Pretty soon here he'd be actually sitting _with_ Mark, finishing these plans, helping set everything up, sitting in front of the camera with him while they did challenges, and punishments, and people made stupid requests.

And he would _not_ panic, or lose his cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, reminder that I'll be fairly slow for a bit due to work. But hope you're still enjoying! Feel free to make requests for livestream shenanigans (or anything else you want).


	10. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe _slightly_ OOC, 'cause I'm not sure Jack would make that kind of comment - sorry if it brings you out of it some.
> 
> Also, if you don't know the shirt I'm talking about, it's [this one](https://scontent-lht6-1.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/e15/23421184_1942950255954056_4689539821155123200_n.jpg) and damn him for owning it ;___;
> 
> Also, [gif version](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b25bc669a7ac218c20e78a62b67e766a/tumblr_oz9yulEb2A1ufanyxo1_500.gif) because reasons.

Jack wasn't sure he'd ever been so excited to be in America. Which was strange when you stopped to think about it. The first time he went to PAX probably should have beaten this. The first time he came to America at all should have beaten this. And yet, he couldn't remember having ever grinned from the moment he got on the plane to the moment he walked in the front door. It was like this weird giddiness that wouldn't go away.

And Mark had been the one to come get him, Ethan in the car too, but in the backseat, with Mark driving, and Jack had gotten to ride right up there with him, laughing and making easy jokes and doing a remarkably good job of not being anxious about his crush.

It was like going to Disney World, except the destination was just Mark's house, and there was a ton of work waiting for all of them.

It was now 10:00 PM the night before the livestream, and Jack, Mark, and a lovely young woman by the name of Jaime were sitting in a circle, carefully stuffing limp balloons with confetti. Which was honestly probably one of the least odd things the Irishman would be doing in the foreseeable future.

They'd been in prep mode ever since Jack had gotten up, sleeping through as much of his jet lag as he would allow himself, and Mark and the crew had probably been working before that too. The whole house was full, and buzzing with excitement as all their planning was finally put into motion, and the preparations were put into place.

There had been several new faces for Jack to get accustomed to - after Kathryn had come down with a case of strep throat (and of course insisted that they continued with her offering online support), they'd ended up bringing in a few more people to help out, Jaime here being one of them. She was apparently someone else's editor/manager, though Jack was unfamiliar with the name when it was offered. But she'd proven herself to be quick and efficient in everything she did, which was relieving, to say the least. With one of their best teammates out of commission, there had been some concern about how well they would be able to continue with the stream.

But Jaime had picked up the slack fairly effortlessly, and was willing to do just about anything that was asked of her, from picking up some of Kathryn's duties, to shopping, to helping the boys set up the decorations. Even now, when she was undoubtably exhausted, and running on fumes in a strange house with people she didn't really know, she was unerringly positive, a bright smile and goofy laugh and ready to pass around another round of energy drinks whenever they started to get too tired. Tyler was upstairs working on a few things with Kathryn over text chat, and Ethan and the others had made yet another Walmart run as they thought of something else they might need. Jaime's bright attitude and eagerness to please was a welcome addition, to say the least.

Now if she could only stop the endless flirting, everything would be perfect.

Not that Jack could really blame her - she was stuck in a room with _Mark_ after all. But it was starting to bother him. Her pretty smile, thick lashes, _gorgeous_ blue eyes with flecks of green and yellow, and a smattering of freckles across her fair skin. Anyone could see she was beautiful. And she liked to touch, when she laughed, and when she made jokes, and when she asked you to pass those scissors, please. Any chance she got. He wasn't even sure she was aware she was doing it - it wasn't like she was dancing in his lap or anything - but it was incessant, never ending, and he was starting to wish it was just him and Mark doing all of this, even if that meant they'd be up for another few hours at least to get it all done.

Which he _did_ feel bad for. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't even doing anything wrong. Mark was an eligible young man, handsome and charismatic, and frustratingly easy to like. And Jack _of course_ had absolutely no claim to him. It wasn't even like she was taking that much attention away from him. Mark was still taking every chance he had to prattle on with Jack, and it was still easy and fun like always. Just with another person in the room. A very pretty, very likable, very female person in the room.

So he was doing his best to ignore it, to keep her in conversation and remind himself how grateful he was that she was here. He hadn't felt jealous with the attention Erica had gotten from Mark last time he was here, he wasn't going to be jealous of Jaime either. That wasn't fair, just because he'd realized he was crushing. So he refused to dislike her.

When they finished with the balloons, setting them aside in a pile to be blown up tomorrow, Jaime dragged over the bag of extra decorations, digging through it with a focused look on her face.

"Okay, I wanna hang up some more of this tinsel shit," she said, one hang delicately pushing her long auburn hair back behind her ear. "Like, on the wall behind the couch or something. There's not enough sparkles."

"Oh god," Jack laughed, and started to pull himself to his feet, brushing off a few errant strands of sparkling confetti and wondering how long he was going to be finding bits of "sparkles" everywhere for the next week.

"How much is enough sparkles?" Mark asked with a weary laugh, rubbing at one of his eyes and reaching for the Monster on the table beside him.

"I want you to be still finding it in your couch next Christmas."

Mark laughed and took a long draw from the can, Jack's eyes tracing the way his throat bobbed with each gulp. He was wearing a close fitting black shirt, a henley, with the buttons undone and his collarbone showing on one side, and Jack was starting to wish he'd go back to just t-shirts and sweatshirts when it got cold, because that was dangerously attractive. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, showing off his sun-kissed skin over the muscles of his forearms, and yeah, he wanted a picture of that.

Jack's eyes darted to Jaime, teeth tucked in his lips as he realized how attractive she had to find that, but she wasn't looking, her face still tucked in the bag as she pulled out another big line of black and silver tinsel.

"Okay, someone come hold this for me."

"I got it," Jack said quickly, darting forward and taking the line from her hands with a smile. She grinned back at him, one hand slipping over his arm as she started pulling him along towards the couch. Her skin felt incredibly soft, even on the palm, and he definitely volunteered because he wanted to help, not because he didn't want Mark under those hands.

"Okay, here, hold that there," she commanded as she positioned a bit of the sparkling strand on the wall, leaning over the couch to do so and looking back to Jack with a pretty smile, her hair cascading over her face. Jack had to lean over her a little to do as she asked, shifting one knee up onto the couch so he was kind of beside her and kind of behind her, doing his best not to completely invade her space as he pressed the tinsel into the wall.

Jaime, on the other hand, seemed to be completely oblivious to the idea of personal space, fetching the little white hook before ducking under his arms to crouch on the couch directly under him, head between his arms, back arched to reach the wall, nearly pressing against him. Which he might have found quite exciting under different circumstances. As it were, he was just strangely happy to have her hidden from Mark's view for a moment.

"Alright, wait, hold up."

The little auburn darted out from her place beneath him, swinging around to his other side and stepping on to the couch to reach _over_ him. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his back, soft and light, and she was making these cute little noises as she tried to adjust the hook and get it to hold the tinsel right. Which, yep, he should definitely be interested in, because she actually _was_ his type, not too much makeup, and pretty eyes, and a lovely personality, but he was far too concerned with the fine arse she was certainly aiming right at Mark.

"Argh, you piece of-"

Suddenly, she slipped off of him, a frustrated sound on her lips, and Jack made sure to laugh as he turned around, searching for the amusement he knew he should be feeling at her frustration, and decidedly _not_ checking to see if Mark had been checking her out.

"You know what, we'll just- . . . here, come here Jack." Her hands found his arms, and she gave him a solid shove, stronger than he expected. He laughed in earnest then, grinning as he was deposited gracelessly on the couch, looking up at her freckled face as she crowded in on him.

"We'll just . . ." Jack watched as she brought the line of shining tinsel back into view, noticing the way it cast little sparkles up her face, down her neck, across the soft expanse of her cleavage as she leaned forward. Suddenly, she was pressing it against his throat, despite his weak protests, wrapping it around once and holding it there, firmly but with no real pressure, the only discomfort coming from the scratchy feeling of the material.

"There, we'll just have Jack wear it for us," she said with a shit eating grin, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she adjusted it into a proper necklace, choker-style. Jack rolled his eyes and pressed back against her shoulders, not harshly, just enough to protest.

"Oh, god no," he said with a grin, narrowing his eyes at Jaime as she smirked down at him. "I ain't wearing that scratchy shit on the livestream."

"Awwww, but you look so cute! Doesn't he, Mark?"

She turned back to look over her shoulder, her smile turning coy, and Jack's stomach dropped as he found Mark's face.

Mark was watching them, eyes wide, lips pressed in a tight line, and he swallowed as they turned on him, his chest rising in quick, shallow breaths. His eyes snapped to Jaime, eyebrows raised, and swallowed again before sputtering a quick "What?"

Jack finally stopped to realize what he was looking at. He was spread out on the couch, pressed down by Jaime's firm hand as she leaned over him gracefully, back arched, wide hips popped to one side, that fine arse of hers out for display for the red-haired American standing in the middle of the room. She was looking over her shoulder at him, one hand gripping the tinsel around Jack's throat, like a collar, giving him a coy smile through her rich auburn waves pooling over one shoulder. All she needed was to give her ass a smack and she would be doing the perfect "fuck me" pose.

"I'm not wearing that," he snapped, a little too harshly, as he finally shoved her aside. Maybe he was being rude, but he didn't need to sit here and watch her seduce Mark, for fuck's sake. He was still coming to terms with this. But if she was bothered by his reaction, she didn't show it. Her easy laugh rolled through the room, and she wrapped the tinsel around her hands, making a quick ball of it.

"Fine, fine. I don't think those hooks are gonna work though. Hold on, lemme see if I can find that bag of stuff Kathryn was talking about, maybe that'll work . . ."

And with that, she was gone, darting out of the room on light feet, her hair fluttering prettily behind her, leaving the two boys alone in what Jack dubbed an awkward silence.

Mark was the first to break it.

"She's, uh . . . she's something else, huh?"

Jack tried not to bristle at the comment. That was innocent enough, right? And again, it wasn't like it was his place to be in the middle of it if it wasn't. Mark was his own person, he had no more claim over him than Tyler, or Ethan, or Wade or Bob or Kathryn, and none of them were gonna get all uppity because some nice young girl was fluttering her pretty lashes. He was being unreasonable. Mark was his friend - he should be . . . encouraging him, if nothing else.

"Aye, something else is the way to put it," he mumbled, trying to make it sound more like teasing than pouting. "She's got energy for days."

"Hah, yeah, she really does. She's like . . . the female Ethan."

For some reason, that made Jack laugh. Genuinely laugh. He stepped over to where Mark was standing, reaching out to grab one of the unopened Monsters from the chest on the floor, and cracking it open as Mark shuffled next to him, taking another draw from his own drink.

"Nah, more like . . . like Erica and Ethan together, maybe? I don't know."

And then, because he was determined not to be an ass, and because it was two guys goofing around, and it was inevitable that it would come up, and he was not going to be weird about this, he said:

"Got more of an arse than Ethan, by any means."

Mark choked on his drink, sputtering with a nervous laugh, and Jack felt strangely torn, still annoyed but oddly amused by his friend's sudden discomfort. He'd always liked teasing Mark, liked seeing him get all flustered and tripping over his words. He wasn't sure what he called it before. He'd certainly call it "cute" now.

"Jesus," the American started, shifting uncomfortably as Jack watched the little bit of pink tinge his cheeks. And yeah, that hurt a little, but that was stupid. This was great fodder, he could tease him about this for ages if that was how he reacted.

He wasn't sure what made him look down. It wasn't something he usually did. Like a guy thing, you just didn't look at other guys' crotches, not just for the gay thing but because it was like a respect thing, because boners popped up at weird times, and if you didn't want to get teased for yours, then you shouldn't tease others for theirs. But still, he looked.

"Oh," he said, a touch of surprise in his voice, before a wicked little grin crept up his face, shoving out the strange pang in his chest. "I see you already noticed."

Mark's eyes shot to him then, and he couldn't help but step back a little. His face was bright now, the blush spreading fast, oddly pretty to his eyes. But his expression wasn't quite as cute. His rich eyes were narrowed harshly, his lips pressed together, his nostrils flared. He looked . . . hurt. Or angry. Or maybe both, he couldn't tell.

"Okay, I found it!"

Jaime came prancing back into the room, swinging a tote bag on one hand, and grinning at the both of them. She seemed oblivious to the discomfort hanging in the air as she tossed the bag to the couch and started rummaging through it, her hip popped out again in that sexy pose.

"Um, I'll be right back," Mark muttered, and Jack's eyes shot back at him, mouth open to say something. Apologize maybe? But Mark was already gone, striding briskly down the hall and out of sight before Jack could even gather his wits.

Had he gone too far? He hadn't meant any disrespect with his comment. He'd been joking about the ass thing - all three of them had been making stupid crude jokes earlier in the day, and it hadn't seemed like a problem. And Mark had literally had Tyler wipe his hands on his dick in a video before, so he hadn't expected him to be so bashful about it.

Or maybe he was more uncomfortable with it than he let on? Maybe he made so many dick jokes because he had some anxiety with it? That didn't seem quite right, but he really had no way of knowing at this point.

"Alright, come help me again," Jaime called, her hands repositioning the tinsel on the wall. Jack hesitated, looking down the hall and feeling an overwhelming urge to go find Mark, to make sure he was okay, and tell him he was sorry if he'd upset him, and try to fix the discomfort he had caused. But then . . . if he was off taking care of his "problem," Jack would only make it worse.

After another moment, the Irishmen's shoulders drooped, and he made his way over to the couch once more, deft fingers reaching up to hold the sparkly substance for her and tried not to mope about how much he had managed to fuck that up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't wait to get to the livestream, jesus, I wish I had more time to write ;___;


	11. Marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could literally make an entire series of oneshots out of the ideas Mark's November livestream gave me, fucking hell. It's been so hard narrowing them down for this story.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if this chapter is a little subpar. It's been rewritten a few times now, and for some reason I just can't be happy with it :/

Jack sat on the arm of the couch, one leg propped on the cushion, and watched as Mark adjusted his lav for the third time, shifting the wires to sit comfortably under his shirt. He was talking with Adam, one of the newer guys, his deep voice drifting through the mess of wires and stands that littered the "behind the scenes" section of the house, which had, until a few hours ago, been Mark's decidedly sparse dining room. Jack could hear Pam and Jaime talking fast behind their computer screens, rushing to make the last few preparations, and Ethan was bouncing on his hands in one of the armchairs, his blue hair fluttering in a pleasing mess. Only Tyler sat completely still, and Jack knew all too well it wasn't from lack of nerves.

Two minutes. Two minutes and they started. Mark would be leading off, announcing the stream, and the premise, and introducing the team that was going to make it happen. And then it was on. A full 8 hours of streaming, not counting the breaks in between, and Jack couldn't decide whether to play it cool or let the nerves show. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through him, fueling the stupid grin he was wearing.

He was more than a little excited, needless to say. The day had been a whirlwind of preparation, last minute fixes and decisions, and not a bit of time to stop and stress. This was honestly the quietest it had been in the last 24 hours, like the calm before the storm, only this wasn't really calm either. More like a quieter tizzy as everyone tried to find their seats in the theatre just as the show starts.

Jack peeked at Mark again, his fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt and tried not to start fiddling with his hair again, because Pam would kill him. Mark looked good. He was wearing a dark red t-shirt, that was only just the right amount of tight, and dark jeans that hung loose off his hips, the black belt seeming to do little in the way of helping. His hair was a wild mess, as always, but the good kind of mess, flipped just out of his face as he laughed with the crewman. Jack let his eyes trace the lines in his back for only a moment, trying to drink it in quick before the stream started, because he refused to give the fans any more fuel than would be inevitably created by this insane stream.

It felt strangely . . . nice, to just indulge in it. Just giving himself a moment to look him over with over thinking it, and put that image away in his head for later examination. It had been working fairly well so far. And Mark had been giving him plenty of chances this morning.

There had been some . . . stiffness the night before, after Mark had returned to help finish with the remaining work. But by the end, everyone had been too tired to posture any longer, and the moment the work was deemed done, all three had toddled off to bed without any more than mumbled "goodnight"s.

And this morning it had been like it never happened. Jaime was up early, making a quick breakfast for anyone who asked, and Mark was dragging Jack in to final prep meetings with Tyler and Ethan, making sure everyone was clear on everything, and nothing at all had been weird.

Except maybe how many times he and Mark had touched in some manner. He'd started counting.

The sound of Jaime's voice shouting "One minute!" brought him back to reality.

Mark had fixed his lav, and Pam stepped forward to man her camera, winking at Jack when she caught his eye. Jack had taken a pretty quick liking to her when they were finally introduced, and he found himself winking back, giving her a few shots from his finger guns. Adam was at his camera now, and Jaime had settled in behind one of the laptops, her legs crossed into one of the empty folding chairs. Jack's fingers fell to the hem of his shirt, adjusting it for the millionth time, before looking back up to watch the crew. Almost there.

Mark spun on his heel suddenly, turning to look at the trio behind him, pointing to them each like he was counting.

"Alright, ready . . . ready . . . ready?"

He ended on Jack, eyebrows up, a little open-mouthed grin creeping up his face. Jack grinned back and gave him the thumbs up, letting his stomach do little flips from the attention and anticipation both.

"Ready, bro."

Mark grinned and spun back, pointing to the cameras with a "Which one are we starting on?", and Jack took his last few preparation breaths. He was here, in American, with Mark and his friends, about to do a charity livestream with them for the first time ever. He knew there were thousands of people just waiting for them to start, sitting in their beds, or at their desks, or on their couches, waiting for the notification that It Had Begun. It left him feeling honored and nervous and giddy all in one, and his leg bounced in excitement as he waited.

"Alright!" Jaime's voice called out, her hand shooting up into the air, clear for everyone to see. Jack's eyes snapped to it, and watched as she held up four fingers, three fingers, two, one, and then-

"Hello everyone, my name is Markiplier, and welcome to the October charity livestream."

  


* * *

  


"We got another $1,000 donation!"

"What?" Mark stopped, his fingers inches from Jack's arm, the little white pad held out, ready to be applied, and Jack couldn't tell if he was relieved or annoyed at the interruption. He wasn't particularly looking forward to the muscle stimulants - he'd had plenty of experience with them in the past - but Mark had had that face as he was getting ready to apply them, all concentration and seriousness, like when he'd helped him with the suntan lotion . . .

"Oh, yay! Awesome, that's another autograph!"

"You wanna do that first?"

"Yeah, let's do that first."

Mark set the small white box aside, tossing the wires and pad on top of it with a careless gesture, and reached for the big marker at the center of the table. Mark had been the first the receive an "autograph", the name of the first $1,000 donator was written in big letters across his chest, hidden from the cameras now under his shirt, save for just the top of the "k" peeking out of his collar. Tyler had come up with this idea, a special treat for any of the big donators, and a way to celebrate their kindness in a way that was also entertaining.

"So, wait, who's next to be tattooed?" Mark asked, spinning on the spot to look at the three men spread around him, eyeing them each as he brandished his marker. This was the third big donation so far, Mark and Tyler both sporting names, which left this one for either Jack or Ethan. The blue-haired boy was already bouncing on his toes, ready to claim his turn. Which Jack was fine with, only . . . 

"Oh, she- they? They wanna be on Jack."

All eyes turned to him, and he felt his on-camera personality kick in once more, automatic and easy, and the reason he had gotten through this stream so far with so little issue. It was just like being back in his room, talking to the camera on his chill-sessions. Just with other people in the room with him.

"I mean, who wouldn't?" He asked with a little smirk, popping one leg out and putting a hand on his hip as he turned to wink at the camera. Pam was giggling, doing her best not to make any noise as she panned her camera in on his face.

"Oh fine," Ethan yelled, throwing his hands up in an over-the-top tantrum style. "I'll just keep my pretty virginal skin than."

They were all laughing as he pulled his shirt up, waving a hand over the bright exposed skin of his chest, surprisingly well-built under all his loose clothing.

"You see all this? Yeah? Un- . . . unmarred and BEAUTIUFL. Yeah. Yeah, that's just waiting for that perfect person out there-" he was pointing at the camera now, stepping forward with his shirt still pulled up, hair bouncing with his exaggerated movements. "-to make that donation and take my . . . my marker . . . or name . . . tattoo . . . virginity, wait-"

Tyler was doubled over now, laughing hard as Ethan realized the awkwardness of his declaration, and Jack had to slap his hand onto the table for support as he snorted, watching as the kid made his recovery.

" _You_ know what I'm talking about," he said, jabbing his finger at the camera as he tried not to laugh. "Just make that donation, and you could get your name on _this_."

He hadn't noticed how close Mark had gotten as he watched Ethan's little show, and he jumped as he felt the other's fingers on his sleeve.

"Alright, where are we putting this?" the American asked, grinning, as he leaned back to look Jack over. The easy laughter tightened in his throat at the sight, turning nervous, and he coughed, trying to think of an innocent enough answer. But Ethan was coming around the table now, making grabby hands for the pen, his lip pushed out in a little pout before he could speak.

"Wait, I wanna do it," he whined in a nasally voice, fingers flexing towards the marker, trying to pop it from Mark's grasp, only to have the red-haired man turn his back towards him, clutching the writing utensil against his chest as if it were some treasure.

"No!" Mark snapped back, and Jack could see where he was trying not to grin. "It's mine."

"Awwww, come on-"

"No, Ethan, come on let's face it, we're talking about Jack's skin virginity here."

The room broke into laughter, movement all around him as the giggles erupted, Tyler bent over again, and Ethan clutching the table to keep himself up, and Jack was just glad there was so much distraction, because he was 90% certain he was blushing, and blushing hard.

He'd made it through the majority of this stream so far without being super weird, and he was trying really hard not to make it weird now, but of course Mark was going to fuck up all of those plans.

"If anyone," and he paused for the laughter again, his eyes fixed on Ethan over his shoulder, his voice trying to be serious, and only failing a little. "Is going to take Jack's skin virginity . . . it's gonna be me."

"Oh god," Jack stuttered through his own laughter, trying to keep it out of the "nervous giggle" territory. This was doing weird things to his stomach, and he was not wearing loose enough pants for that to start up, and why was Mark standing so close? "In that case, I think I'll take Ethan."

"Nope." Mark's hand whipped out to snatch his wrist, the touch sparking through his arm right to his gut, and suddenly he was very stuck, Mark crowding in on him, trapping him against the table. "Nope, you're _aaaallllllll_ mine, buddyboy."

He said it goofy and stupid and obviously joking, and it was getting very hard to keep his mind in only safe places.

"Did she say where she wanted it?" Mark called over his shoulder, as he leaned back once more to consider his captive, his eyes narrowing a little as he looked him over.

"No," Jaime called back, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. "Dealer's choice, I guess."

"Ooooh, dealer's choice." Mark's grin had never looked so . . . thrilling.

"You just write it right on his dick," Ethan giggled, and the laughter erupted once more.

"Nooo, that's where the 'Property of Markiplier' goes."

"Oh, you _wish_ ," Jack shot back, his on-camera auto-pilot kicking in to save him from his discomfort, and he backed away a little, Mark releasing his wrist, giving him just enough space to breathe and feel comfortable once more.

"Well, yeah, I do wish. Could you imagine, like, having property of me on Jackspeticeye's dick?"

"I don't know if it'll fit man," Ethan piped up, a shit eating grin plastered across his face. "That's a long name."

"Oh, fuck off," Jack laughed. "I'll have yeh know I could fit a few names on there."

"Suuuuuuure. Like Eve, and Ivy, and Amy-"

"Shut up."

"Alright, alright, alright," Mark laughed, stepping forward again, not crowding quite so close as he held up the pen. "What's the name?"

"Amantha."

"Amantha? Like, Samanatha without the 's'?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Okay. Here, lift up your shirt."

Jack had been shirtless in front of Mark before. He'd stayed at his home before, and he'd spent an entire day with him at the water park with only his swim trunks. So it shouldn't have felt so . . . intimate to lift his shirt now. And yet, the moment he pulled up the hem, pulling it high to tuck under his chin and shove the rest out of the way, he felt incredibly exposed. Almost like he was naked, instead of the perfectly acceptable amount of skin he had on display.

Mark hesitated a moment as he looked at the canvas before him, his brows coming together a little, like he was concentrating on something, and Jack suppressed a shiver as he felt those chocolate eyes on him, almost like an actual presence on his skin. This shouldn't be weird. Ethan had written on Mark. Jack had written on Tyler. And it hadn't been weird at all. So this definitely shouldn't be. Couldn't be. It needed to be very normal, because these pants were fairly tight, and that camera was on him, and _god_ , why were Mark's hands so warm?

The red-haired man had pressed one palm flat against his side, holding him still as he brought the marker up, hovering just over the skin of his ribs, below the smattering of hair covering his chest. He was looking him over again, and Jack couldn't stop the little shiver that slipped through him, fast and easy to miss, because his eyes had raked across his happy trail, and that wasn't so bad with his pants on, but it was directly connected to another area he was trying hard not to think about, and why was this so difficult?

Suddenly, Mark slipped down onto one knee, bringing him to a proper level to write, and Jack swallowed hard, turning to grin at the camera rather than look down, because that was way more than he could handle right now.

"Alright, Amantha, everyone ready?"

"Yep."

"Yep."

"Mm'hmm."

"Alright."

And then they were all singing their own terrible spins on "Amantha, we love you", trying to find some kind of rhythm or rhyme as Mark finally brought the pen against his skin.

Jack sucked in a breath, and focused on singing, trying to find the same tune Tyler's deep voice was singing to, and trying very hard _not_ to gasp, because wow that felt weird.

Mark was moving slow, taking his time on each letter, dragging the felt tip across his skin firm and careful. Everywhere he touched was wet, just for a moment, cooling in the warm air of the room, though the tingle lingered for a few moments longer. He was writing it big, starting on one side of his ribs and dragging it across to the other side, the letters bold and bubbly, and Jack was pretty sure that was bigger than was absolutely necessary.

Ethan had changed up the song a little, changing the tempo into something a little more poppy, and Jack struggled to keep up, his stomach jumping each time he sucked in a quick breath, Mark's hand pressing harder to keep track of where he was.

He was almost done when he realized Mark wasn't singing. Both of the other times, everyone had stopped to sing, even the autographer and his canvas. And Mark was usually the loudest, leading the song in whatever direction he so desired on his stupid whims.

But he wasn't singing now. It was just him and Ethan and Tyler, and Jack glanced down in confusion, to find Mark's face inches from his skin, eyebrows drawn together, a little frown of concentration marring his visage. If he leaned any closer further, he could kiss his bellybutton.

Jack's neck snapped up, and he turned to the camera on instinct, trying to keep his smile as he sang louder. Maybe he could drown out the weirdness. Maybe if he sang loud enough, he would forget this was perfect boner material, and Mark was on his knees in front of him, and wow, this was really going to help fuel those fantasies he was only just starting to get comfortable with.

And of course Mark took his sweet fucking time with it. They were all starting to tire of their song, and they were getting out of sync, and Jack's voice was starting to do weird things, when the red-haired man finally leaned back to take in his masterpiece.

"There we go," he said, slapping a hand across his stomach before he stood, and Jack took the first unrestrained breath he had dared since this whole torture started. "Congratulations Amantha, you're the first on Jack."

Jack grinned then, his body starting to relax, as he looked down at Mark's handiwork, struggling to read it upside down in it's giant text. The letters were fairly neat, despite their size, and he figured taking his time must had paid off, even if it had nearly given him a heart attack.

Suddenly, Jack's eye caught sight of a little anomaly, right on his hip, a mark he hadn't noticed Mark put on him, having been so focused on ignoring him and singing. He pressed his fingers into the skin of his stomach, trying to stretch it some to give him a better view, and his heart did a strange little flutter in his chest when he realized what it was.

"Wait, what's with the 'M'?" It was Ethan that asked. Jack was still a little speechless from his discovery. Because he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Mark meant it as.

About half the size of his hand, drawn right into his hip, was a sharp "M" tucked inside a circle.

"That's my 'Property of Markiplier' mark," the red-haired man told them easily, pressing the cap back onto the pen and setting it aside with a little grin. "Just practicing for when I put it on his dick later."

He _winked_ at him.

And then he turned right back to the camera and started another spiel about the charity and donations, thanking everyone who had already helped, and urging others to do what they could, as Jack stood shaken in the middle of the room, doing his best to collect the mess that was his head as the blush spread warmly through his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I love Ethan? Because I love Ethan.


	12. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have split this into two chapters, but I didn't want to drag it out any more, so yay, long chapter for everyone :]
> 
> Also, if you haven't noticed, I'm basically just overwriting Mark's November Charity Livestream with this one in this universe, hope no one minds . . .

Jack's arms ached as he held himself up, the little pulses of electricity making them ache and tense, and he gritted his teeth, focusing desperately on not falling. Which was _way_ more difficult than it should have been.

Honestly, it probably would have been much harder if he didn't have his head craned back, eyes fixed on Tyler as he prepared to spin the stupid little needle again, looking weird upside down. Because like this, he could pretend the heat pressed against his stomach wasn't Mark.

They were playing Twister. With muscle stimulants. Because Mark was some kind of sucker for torture. Jack knew it was coming, it was on the public schedule they had made, and everyone was very aware that it was going to be one of the earlier games they played, while they were still hyped and had the energy to actually hold themselves up.

Tyler wasn't in the mix for this one. The mat was surprisingly small, despite it's box boasting the ability to play with 4 players, and his knee was still bad. Better not to risk it. Instead, it was just Jack, Mark, and Ethan, trying desperately to hold themselves up over the stupid plastic mat as their muscles seized and betrayed them.

It had not gone well.

The point was to play a few rounds, and whoever had lost the most by the end would have to take a punishment. Which, granted, Jack had fared fairly well with, at least so far. Though only because Ethan or Mark had a tendency to cave first.

Though he wasn't in a particularly good place for a win now. He was spread out on his back like a crab, arms over his shoulders to hold him up on the current circles, body curved away from the two forms above him, who were threatening to fall at any moment. He had a solid hold on his position for the moment, even the pulses tensing his arms not being enough to drop him for now. But the second he was made to move again, he would be royaly fucked.

And of course there was Mark.

Ethan and Mark were somewhat wrapped up in each other, twisted around to reach their circles, and giggling and whining at their seizing arms, but Mark's stomach was the one pressed against his own, and he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep this up. It hadn't been too bad, at first, all the laughing and goofing off, and the discomfort of the stimulators doing enough to diffuse any tension he might be feeling from the close contact. But the longer he played, the harder it was getting to ignore that. He needed to finish this game quickly if he wanted to keep any of his dignity.

They were close though. It was almost time to take one of their breaks, a half hour between every hour of streaming, and it was going to be the perfect timing, because Jack needed some space to breath. He wasn't looking forward to the next game.

"Alright, Mark," Tyler's voice boomed out, as he spun the little spinner, his intense stare aimed towards the little wheel as Jack struggled to watch from his awkward position. "Left hand . . . red."

"Oh, geez," the American wheezed as he craned his neck to find the nearest red. "Alright, I got this guys, I got this."

Jack's stimulants kicked in again, and he gritted his teeth, a little yell hissing out through his clenched jaw as he turned his eyes instead to the camera, Pam obviously zooming in to focus on him for a moment as Mark figured out how he was going to move. They weren't as high as they could be. At first they were going to up them a level every round, but they were forced to stop at eight when it became clear they were just going to drop on each pulse if they went much further. But even still, this was rough.

"Ooooooooooooh, meh fockin' arms," he spat as his body tensed hard in response, shaking for a few moments before it went down again, leaving him a shaky breathless mess. "Fuckin' hell, WHY DID WE DO THIS GAME?"

There was laughter around him, but he couldn't tell where or from who, as he felt Mark started to shift to his new spot. His left hand snaked in between Ethan and Jack, reaching around to the other side of the Irishman to find purchase on one of the red circles, twisting his body awkwardly to do so and ending up with his face almost pressed into green hair. Jack almost wished his stims would kick back on to distract him from the warm breath on his ear, and he faced decidedly towards the cameras only. Looking up was dangerous just now.

"Alright, Ethan! Right foot-"

He was drowned out by Ethan's sudden shout, which turned quickly into a long, jumpy whine, little breathes of laughter in between.

"Aha . . . aha . . . ooh . . . okay . . . right foot what?"

"Right foot green." Tyler repeated with a snicker, watching the blue-haired boy struggle to hold himself up on shaking arms. Jack could sympathize, his entire body aching from the effort, his arms shaking, threatening to drop him at any moment, and he was pretty sure he was fucked as soon as his turn came, because his left arm had just about decided to drop him-

Suddenly, a force hit him hard on his chest, a solid wall crushing him down and forcing his tired limbs out from under him. He crumpled under the force, letting out a winded "oomph" as he struck the ground, all the air shoved from his lungs, and he struggled to get it back with the sudden weight on him.

Ethan had fallen, it seemed, dragging Mark and Jack down with him in the process. Instant relief washed through his tired body as he relaxed into the crinkly plastic, all too happy for the round to be over. That was enough losses for Ethan to settle the punishment, he was pretty sure. And there wasn't time for another round. It was over. He'd be able to take these stupid electric stimulators off now, just as soon as Mark got off of him.

And then Jack took a moment to take stock. Because he was currently crushed under Mark, his warm body pressed against him almost perfectly aligned, his face pressed into a meaty shoulder, red hair tickling his ear, and he was pretty sure that was a knee pressed between his thighs.

Yep. He needed to move now.

Only he was two people deep here, and Ethan's stims had only just released him, the kid looking perfectly content to just lay in a dog pile for a moment to catch his breath. Which Jack was quite certainly not okay with - that knee was pressing mighty high.

"Eh, get off it," he wheezed, his breath hard to catch under all this warm weight. Mark hadn't moved since they collapsed, his body draped limply across him, save for the firm knee holding him up. Jack struggled to get his one pinned arm out, shoving at Mark before turning his attention to Ethan, hands on his shoulders, pushing him hard.

"Get off me, yeh hairy!" he yelled as best he could, shoving with his weak arms, succeeding in moving Ethan just a bit before Mark's stims cut on.

The body above him tensed, hard, the arm pinned at his side seizing, fingers digging into his shirt as the man groaned into his ear. He could feel he'd moved his head to face the camera, and Jack could imagine the face he was making, eyes shut and mouth open and just huffing in discomfort. Probably plenty entertaining, but Jack wanted him off _now_ please, because that voice was doing things to him.

Ethan was starting to stand up now, pulling away from the tangled pair as Jack turned his attention to the red-haired man, shoving at him even as his body tensed for the electricity. Probably rude, but he was feeling decidedly stuck, and a little trapped, and he really wanted to move. Mark looked like he was trying to get up, one hand pressed flat against the floor even as the muscles of his arm bunched and twitched, betraying his efforts. It took him another moment, but he was starting to pull away, giving Jack enough space to breathe as he leaned up, grimacing at the camera.

He just so happened to shift that damned knee as he was coming back, pressing higher, right into Jack's groin. He hadn't done it hard, it hadn't hurt, and Mark was already moving again, his stims shutting off, ready to get completely off of him. But Jack had to fuck it all up with that sound.

It was somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Or like a gasp that turned into a groan. This weird noise that stuck in his throat as Mark pressed his knee firmly against his traitorous body. He wasn't even that worked up, not even enough for someone to be able to look at his tight pants and see it. But certainly enough to rip that stupid noise out of his throat on contact.

No one seemed to notice. At least, Tyler and Ethan and Pam and them didn't. Mark, on the other hand . . .

His face snapped down to him immediately, brown eyes bright, face still red from his exertions. He gave him a little smile, concerned, as his brows came together lightly, and he offered him a hand, still half kneeling in his lap.

"You alright?"

Jack was blushing. Hard. He knew it. Because maybe no one else knew what just happened. But _he_ did. And he could only hope that Mark chalked up his red face to being stuck under two people for a few seconds there.

"'m fine," he said with what he hoped was a convincing grin. "Yeh're just fat."

Mark grinned back at him, wrapping his hand around his and yanking him to his feet, a hand at his back to steady him as they both dusted off their pants. Jack glanced around, quick, checking where everyone else was and confirming that no one else had seen that. Which, it looked like no else did. Or at least, no one cared.

Mark had launched into a bit of an outro for the break, urging the viewers to stay tuned for Ethan's punishment next round, and their next game, the Easter Egg Shock Collar (Jack cringed at that), and thanking everyone who had helped so far.

And then that was it. Cameras were off, everyone relaxed, and Jack took the opportunity to take a quick bathroom break. To compose himself. Among other reasons.

  


* * *

  


Twenty minutes later Jack was sitting in one of the little black folding chairs, his elbows pressed into his knees as his eyes scanned the long list of donations with Jaime.

There were so many, such a staggering amount of people coming together to help the cause, from little $1 donations to the occasions $150, $500, even $1000. It was insane. He could sit reading the names for hours, just feeling an overwhelming sense of humbling gratitude. The fans had really pulled together so well for this one.

But they weren't here for the names. He was here now to help Jaime pull out any worthy requests. Which was much more work than he had expected.

They had decided in the end to simply invite any donator to make a request. But rather than making any kind of guarentee on who would get theirs filled, they would simple pick out any that seemed good. Not the most perfect system, but they simply didn't have the time or people to do anything else.

They'd honored a few so far. Some people asked for birthday wishes, or to say hi to people for them. One person had made Mark sing part of an Ed Sheeran song, which had been cool. Somebody else had asked Tyler to be Ethan's pony, which had been damn funny. And someone else had asked Jack to speak "as Irish as possible". Which had been predictable, but fun nonetheless as the boys did their best to figure out what the hell he was saying.

But this was the first time Jack had gotten to see the unfiltered list of requests that occasionally came along with donations. And wow, Mark had been right. There was a lot of Septiplier.

Not like some overwhelming amount. Honestly, it only popped up every once in a while, maybe one out of every dozen requests, and requests were really one out of every dozen donations, so it wasn't like the screen was filled with it.

But still, every time he found one asking for them to hug, or kiss, or play gay chicken (jesus), his stomach would tighten and he'd have to skip past it quickly, unable to even look at the words. Which, they shouldn't be that bad, but damn if that stupid twister game hadn't fucked him up.

"What're we looking at?"

The sound of Mark's voice over his shoulder made him jump a little, but he didn't move from his spot, his eyes still searching through the list for a viable request, doing his best to keep it together and be completely normal and not weird, because he'd been doing a terrible job of that lately.

"Looking through requests," Jaime answered for him, though her eyes stayed on her screen too, her mouse flicking quickly through the list as she read at lightning speed.

"Anything good?"

Mark was closer now, standing almost between them. Jack could see him out of the corner of his eye, hands on his hips, leaning forward a little to look at Jack's screen, and he wished he'd fix his shirt so he wasn't showing that little bit of skin on his side.

"Eh, we've got a little list. Some more birthday requests, those could probably be done fast. And somebody wants y'all to sing 'Danny Boy' together." Jack laughed at that one. "Oh, and there was one for you to be blindfolded for the next section, but . . . you know."

"Oh, yeah, they'll kinda get that one anyway."

"Yeah, yeh missed all the requests for us to start pony play," Jack cut in, laughing a little as he saw yet another one for someone to be someone's pony, and he could hear Mark chuckling behind him, leaning forward to put his hand flat on the table next to Jack's keyboard.

"Anything really bad?"

"Nah, nothing past our guidelines, really," Jaime told him, finally leaning back from her screen to glance over at the red-haired man. "Still lots of shippers though."

Jack tried not to think too hard about that. It was going to come up. Just let Mark handle it. He knew what he was doing.

"How much is 'lots'?" Mark asked, and Jack cringed, stopping to reread the page he had been on as he realized he hadn't absorbed any of the comments.

"Eh, enough. Mostly asking for photo stuff, and a lot of kisses."

She sounded amused. Jack was struggling to remember why he had decided to like her.

"Well, we knew that was coming," Mark said with a grin, and he reached out to put a hand on Jack's shoulder, giving a little squeeze as he turned to look at him. _Don't look weird,_ he told himself, as he marked another possible request, taking the moment to write it down and really taking his time as an excuse to not look at him.

"Can I see?" Mark asked in a nonchalant tone, and Jaime clicked over into another tab without hesitation, pulling up a list Jack hadn't realized she had.

"There ya go, that's a little sampling," she said with a smirk, before standing up abruptly, giving Mark a quick pat as she offered her seat. "I'm gonna grab another water before the stream starts back up, be right back!"

She dashed off, and Jack was left in a strangely comfortable silence with Mark as he sat down and started picking through the list. Something told him he should be feeling more awkward just now. Mark was literally over there reading through requests from people wanting them to do . . . _things_ . . . together. And there was no one else there to diffuse the tension. But he was focusing on his comments, and Mark was sitting over there with an easy smile as he read through all that mess, like it didn't bother him any, and, well . . . there just didn't seem to be any reason to be tense.

Which was odd, considering he had been tense right up to just then.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Mark finally leaned back, stretching out with his hands above his head, managing to crack his back with an audible _pop_. Jack had gotten through the rest of the backlog, and was just casually watching the new donations float it, sipping on a bottle of water.

"Maybe we'll give them a little something."

Jack tried not to choke, did his best to keep drinking like that was completely normal and hadn't made his stomach do some kind of weird backflip thing. Well, _that_ brought the tension back. He took a moment to swallow and put the top back on his bottle, eyes fixed stubbornly on his screen despite not being able to read the text flying past.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something tame. Maybe . . . " He trailed off for a moment, and Jack could see his forehead furrow in thought out of the corner of his eye, before his eyes brightened, and he grinned. "I got an idea."

Jack turned, eyebrows up, expression determinedly neutral, and faced him finally. Mark was grinning at him, his eyes glinting with excitement and mischief, Jack decided he looked far too impish for comfort. But he trusted him. He'd already decided to trust him. So there was no reason to panic.

He was just opening his mouth to ask him what in the lord's name he was planning, when Pam yelled out the one minute warning, and they were both rushing back to their positions, doing a mad dash to make sure they had everything they needed, the previous conversation completely slipping from Jack's mind as he popped the fridge open to set the eggs on the counter. They'd already made sure everything was pretty much prepped during the break, so there wasn't too much work to do, but it was hectic for a moment there.

By the time the stream started up again, they were all in their places, looking cool and collected - surprisingly - and Mark launched into an intro without hesitation. It was nice, actually, being able to rely on him. Just let him get things started and ended, and Jack could just be entertaining in between. Not that he didn't like doing his work, but this part at least was strangely relaxing, as Jack turned to make goofy faces at Ethan behind Mark's back as the red-haired man urged the viewers once again to help them reach their lofty goal.

Jack had his tongue out, his fingers stuck in his mouth to pull his cheeks apart and his eyes crossed at the blue-haired boy when he caught Mark's voice change, stopping to listen in just as the goddamn man dropped his little bomb for the viewers.

". . . and we're getting there. We're getting close guys, but we need your help. We're willing to do anything to reach that goal. In fact-" and he grinned this shit-eating grin, his eyes turning to Jack's for the briefest of moments, before he was reaching out to grab him by the wrist, dragging him around the counter to come stand next to him, one of his big hands landing comfortably on his shoulder.

"In fact," he said again, and his fingers tightened in his skin as he pulled him just a little closer, the warmth from his body spreading along Jack's side.

"If you guys help us hit that goal, I will kiss Jacksepticeye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D?


	13. Kinky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So work is trying very hard to kill me, but hopefully that'll be over soon. Sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long. And also sorry for this, because this is not the full chapter I had intended to be next. It got really big (like 3 times the usual length), and I'm not quite done editing up the second half, so I figured I'd split it up and y'all can at least have _something_ while you wait.

Jack watched the little counter on the screen ticking slowly higher and higher, his mouth painfully dry. There were voices around him, somebody talking next to him, but he wasn't listening, knew it wasn't aimed towards him, couldn't find it in himself to drag his eyes away from those traitorous flickering numbers as he tried to keep his stomach in it's proper place.

_"I will kiss Jacksepticeye."_

The words were playing over and over again on a loop in his head, like some kind of theme music to the little crisis he was struggling his way through as he reached for his water bottle once again. Mark was gonna kiss him. _Mark_ was going to _kiss him_.

What the actual fuck.

He wasn't sure what kind of face he made when he first absorbed the words, but he was pretty sure it wasn't up to par for what the situation demanded. That was shipping fodder of the highest order, the kind of thing people write fanfictions over, and do those all caps gibberish comments for, and so much _squealing_ , enough to give you an internet headache, and it probably deserved a lot more fan fair than he gave it. 

Instead, all he can remember was the blinking that he couldn't seem to stop, like when you mess up a word and try to fix it but you just keep messing it up, his body doing it over and over like it was trying to reset him, and the very simple words spluttered from numb lips.

"Yeh're gonna what?"

He hadn't decided to speak. It hadn't been his choice, just like the weird blinking thing, and he hadn't decided to turn and look at him. But his body had done it, on some kind of autopilot, because his mind had just sort of . . . broken. It just stopped working, all coherent strings of thought cut to be replaced by a weirdly quiet jumbled mess of slow, numb murmurs that he couldn't quite catch on to, and his body was just doing . . . whatever, without any input from his head.

"Wait, you're gonna kiss Jack?" _That was Ethan's voice._

"Yep."

"Like, on the cheek?" _Tyler._

"Nope, on the lips."

"Just, like, a quick peck, or . . . ?" _Ethan again._

"No, yeah, let's say . . . wait, how long's an appropriate kiss?"

And he had had the _gall_ to look at Jack. As if he would somehow be in any kind of state to be able to answer that question, instead of rendered completely useless by the shock of his best friend and _crush_ deciding he was going to kiss him. On live camera. In front of thousands of people. With no way to escape.

The only lucid thought he had been able to manage was _"Is it gonna tickle?"_ Because damn if he hadn't already thought about it, and wondered what it was like to kiss when there was another set of facial hair in the mix.

Jaime had popped up, all eager to help him, throwing three fingers into the air with a gesture that was far too excited for the moment, a big grin just visible from the side of her face around her laptop screen, and Jack's eyes had jumped to them, his brain struggling to comprehend.

Three seconds. Not just a peck. Not just on the cheek. Three seconds _on the mouth_.

How the fuck was he going to be able to do that?

"Okay, wait, give Jack the remote."

The Irishman was pulled back into the present at the sound of his name, eyes pulled away from the donation counter to find Tyler reaching across the counter, proffering Ethan's phone to him with a delicate gesture. Jack was already reaching out to take it before he was fully caught up, his body kicking into that wonderful autopilot, mouth already open to give a wicked little cackle that sounded strangely natural, and he wondered how easy his body would be able to live without his mind to muddy things up.

"Ooooohoohoohoo," he chortled, pulling his lips back into that face that was maybe a little bit too Anti for the situation, but felt natural enough. "That was a mistake, Marky-boy."

Ethan was cackling with him now, and it was so easy to just shove the thoughts out of his mind for a moment, feed off of Ethan's excitement, and Tyler's bright eyes, and Mark's camera face, and just be Jacksepticeye for the camera, who definitely _wasn't_ still watching the donations tick higher and higher, and _wasn't_ panicking about what was coming, and _definitely wasn't_ secretly wishing that they wouldn't hit their goal, because that was _beyond_ selfish.

He was ya boy, JSE, comin' atchya, pumped to play these games and get those donations and shock the hell out of THE Markiplier.

Wait, what?

The phone felt way too light and delicate in his hands for what it was going to be used for. A shock collar remote should be big and clunky and awkward to hold, and this screen was too big and sensitive, and that button was way too large, he could hit that just shifting his hand. Who had come up with this stupid idea any way?

Mark, of course. They'd come up with the games and punishments together, but this was Mark's baby, a variation on a challenge he had done some time back, and Jack had stupidly accepted it because it hadn't sounded that bad from a far.

Now, he wasn't so sure, even as his camera face was grinning at the look Mark was giving him. They were all standing around the kitchen island, Mark in the middle, a red blindfold pushed up into his matching bangs. The counter was covered in items, plates and cups, stuffed animals, a roll of toilet paper, things that looked like parts of bigger things that he couldn't place. Just odds and ends really, and spread out amongst all of them were eggs.

It was a fairly simple game, actually. You put the blindfold on, and you tried to find an egg. When you found one, you cracked it over your head, and if it was boiled instead of raw, you got a point.

The fun really came in when you touched something that _wasn't_ an egg. Because the moment your skin connected with something other than shell in this minefield of a counter, the person holding the remote got to push that button.

He'd been fairly surprised by how . . . well, "scary" wasn't really the right word for it. It was more this tremendous weight of apprehension, that seized your whole body as you reached out into the dark, no way of knowing what your fingers were about to connect with, everything just completely out of your control. There was no skill to it, really. It was just . . . Russian Roulette. Pure adrenaline.

He could still feel the way it had pumped through his veins like electricity, could still hear that low rumbled laugh as he reached out the first time, knowing there was no way it was as close as it sounded to him, because Mark would be speaking directly into his ear if that were the case, and the strange tingle in his skin after the pain started to fade had lasted far longer than it should have . . .

"Don't you dare shock me."

Mark's voice wasn't as serious as he was trying to make it. Jack could hear the laughter at the end, could see the little grin fighting around the edges of his lips as he pointed an accusing finger at the Irishman. Jack laughed, his camera face shoving all the nervous thoughts and apprehensions out of his mind as he slipped back into his role, only his shifting feet giving away his discomfort, easily mistaken as excitement.

"Oh, m'gonna shock yeh, Mark."

"That's the whole point!"

"No, I mean, like, don't shock me unless I deserve it." Mark was scowling at him, and Jack knew it wasn't serious, and he laughed again, letting the tension ease from his shoulders as Ethan giggled next to him.

"Well that doesn't help you-"

"Yeh deserve it."

"-yeah, that's not very clear Mark-"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN."

And they were all laughing now, Mark's face twisted up in giggles as his accusatory finger shook, still pointed at Jack's devious grin, and his finger hovered over the button, so tempted, so very tempted, but he knew he'd feel bad the moment he did it.

Even still, he lifted it up for Mark to see, thumb just an inch above the screen.

"I swear to god, Jack, I swear to god if you shock me-"

He really should. It would be good for a few laughs, entertainment for the donors watching, entertainment for the people in the room. Entertainment for him, as he watched the way his body tensed and twisted, his breath caught in his throat in that guttural way-

"Put yer blindfold on, Mark."

"Jaaaack . . . Jack, I swear to god-"

"Put yer blindfold on, and maybe I won't."

Chocolate eyes on blue, mistrusting, bright, his mouth twisting up in a funny line as he narrowed them at him. But he did as he was told, his fingers fumbling with the red cloth even as he glared at the other man, determined and powerful and ready to fight.

And then he put the blindfold down over those earthy eyes, and all the bravery was gone, all the resolve and grit and fight leaving him in the blink of an eye to be replaced with vulnerability, and just a hint of fear.

That was getting back into dangerous territory. Way too dangerous, the way his mouth was just a little open, his breath barely audible if he listened close enough, and shaky, like he was nervous. He was facing him, his face turned blindly towards him, a hint of pink tinging his olive cheeks, and he watched, mesmerized, as he closed his mouth long enough to swallow.

"Jack?"

Mark had meant it as an admonishment, he was pretty sure, another warning not to dare press that button. But the way it came out, just a little too soft, and with a hint of a questioning inflection, made it sound more like a plea, and Jack was left desperately working to keep his camera face on as he shoved terrible thoughts back into the darker parts of his mind to deal with _after_ he was off camera.

"Jack . . . don't . . . pl-"

"We just hit $100,000!"

And then the moment was over, the danger passed, and Mark was ripping off his blindfold again, eyes bright, camera face on, as he turned to Pam in excitement.

"Did we?! Oh my god, YEAH!"

They were all yelling now, Jack slipping into the mix with ease, crowing with delight at the news as he felt Ethan's hands wrap around his shoulders and shake him, Tyler's laughter in the background, warm and genuine, Mark's back filling his vision for a moment as he leaned forward towards the camera, all crooked grin and bright eyes and bouncing red hair.

"That's another punishment!" Mark exclaimed happily, shoving off the counter and flipping the red blindfold out of his hands in an easy gesture before making his way towards the makeshift dartboard in the corner. "And I'll take this one happily, because you guys have been so awesome, thank you so much for this!"

Adam stepped forward to hand him the darts again, picking his way carefully through the wires before darting back to his behind the scenes safety, and Jack grinned as he watched, swept up in the flood excitement, his nerves forgotten for the time being.

Mark stood poised in front of the dart board, a tall sheet of plywood with bright colors painted on it, and balloons fixed across the surface. Some were just tatters, already popped by some punishee, the floor already covered in confetti from previous throws, and it seemed just the right amount of fun and messy for the occasion.

"Okay, so that's another $10,000 landmark we reached there, so we've got another punishment coming up, which Mark is going to take" Tyler was saying, easily filling the little moment of silence with another donation spiel, and Jack turned towards the camera, ready to jump in as needed, as they waited for Mark to take his shot, hefting the big dart with a serious expression.

"Remember, if you want to see more of these punishments, you gotta donate, get us to another landmark. Every dime is going towards Save The Children, and they've actually found us an anonymous matching donor, so every dollar you donate is doubled, up to $200,000. We've got lots of punishments ahead, so let's keep this going guys. Remember, if you're particularly generous and can make a thousand dollar donation, you will get your name on one of us. For those of you who can't, remember you can make a request with any donation, even just a dollar, anything helps. And if you can't donate, just help us spread the word. Each new viewer is a potential donator . . ."

Jack stopped listening as he watched the dart fly from Mark's hand, hitting with a solid sound against the plywood, a bright blue balloon exploding into confetti, and Mark stepped forward, fingers snapping out to grab the little folded piece of paper that had tumbled to the ground in the aftermath.

He was pulling it open, a little grin on his face, everyone waiting for what dastardly deed would befall him, as he turned towards the camera to add to Tyler's words.

"And remember," he said, and that crooked grin of his went all wicked and wry. "If you guys wanna see the kiss of the century, you gotta get us to our $200,000 goal."

Jack's mouth went dry again. Oh. Yeah. _Fuck_. For just a few minutes there, he'd forgotten all about it, a brief respite in the excitement of the stream, just Jacksepticeye and Markiplier acting like idiots with their friends and fans, and suddenly he was back to being just Jack, dry-mouthed and nervous and definitely overthinking everything again.

They were still a half hour off of the halfway point, and they were halfway to their goal. Those odds were not in his favor. And he should be excited, because this was insane, they were going to hit the highest goal they'd ever set, but all he could think about was how in god's name he was going to not act like a goddamn fool in front of thousands of people.

"So whadja get?" Ethan asked, and Jack tried to find that sweet spot again, tried to get carried away in the game and the laughter as he watched Markiplier the YouTuber read whatever was on his paper, ready to pounce on this punishment, his fingers gripping the phone in his left hand just a little too hard, eyes trailing up to glance at the prongs pressing into the delicate skin of his tanned throat, and that wasn't helping so he went to his face again.

"Oh," Mark said, his voice strangely tight as he stared at the slip in his hand, and he swallowed once, hard, before looking up at the camera and showing them the white sheet with the word "Kinky" written in sharp, dark letters. "Well then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll stop being such a fucking tease soon.


	14. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger on this time! Buuuuuuuut, I guess I'm still kind of a tease, because you'll notice there's no Kinkiplier in here. I promise we're coming back to that!! Just didn't want to draw this out any longer :3

"We're so close, oh my god, keep this going guys, keep it going!"

The voices in the room were way too loud, echoing in the big kitchen, overlapping each other and getting muddled as people tried to talk too fast. It was late, it had been a long day, everyone should be damn well exhausted by this point. But in that moment, there was only a frenzied kind of energy buzzing between them all, and Jack rode the high like his life depended on it.

He was wedged between Tyler and Mark, Ethan pressed against his back as they all watched the text flying across the screen, dozens of donations rushing in, $1, $5, the odd $100 that just kept piling on, getting them closer and closer to that goal. The adrenaline was rushing through all of them as the clock ticked closer and closer to that 10PM cut off.

"Kate, with another $100 donation, Molly and Madison, 'we love you guys', thank you, Kitty_LaFey, fallenfromthestars, Streamoflillies, you guys are awesome, keep it up!"

They were taking turns reading out the donators, picking names on the fly as they flew past, a new person taking over as someone else had to take a breath.

"Mjb with $50, thank you, Petrichor, Marykhln, god I hope I pronounced that right, BrutalMiami-"

$1,500 to go. $1,500 and only five minutes left before the end of the stream. Jack knew it might be close, if they even made it, but he hadn't expected this.

"-At_the_moment with $60, BrizZigs, Skaiaa, SpectreAntiHero-"

The fans had really come together for this one. They'd had a lot of people tell them they couldn't do it - the goal was higher than they had ever tried before, higher than what most people could even hope to get close to. But they were going to do it. It was so close, they were right there, the donations pouring in like a tidal wave as the viewers pull together for that last push they needed.

"-ItsPronouncedSatanBitch, oh my god, yes it is, SnowKitty, TreyTheFag, probably can't say that on a live stream but I just did-"

"-Byler, Jesus, thank you Jaysus!-"

"-Might be Hey-sus, not Jesus-"

"-Bittenice, Cjdimitrov, Dawnieangel, Cinna, Fennec-"

"$700 to go!"

Ethan was practically vibrating behind him, the excitement pouring off him in waves that Jack fed off of as he picked up the reading again.

"-Taterz_Tots with $50, Septibean, Markiplierfan, thank yeh guys, Chloe_brownie, Shaedyn, I probably butchered that-"

Mark pressed closer to him on his right side as he leaned in to read the screen, and Jack could feel how tense he was, his warm arm rigid against his side, like a statue sitting out in the sun, only he didn't mind the rough feel of his skin, or the rough cant of his voice as he took over.

"-RageHappyAH, PixelCaw, Tfwfangirlsatk, thank you so much, GodLikesBoysToo, NoaHamiltrash-"

"Watercolorwoods with $200!"

"-oh my god, we're so close-"

"-Holyemo, Jackmarkdanphil, FaintinDestruction, CookieDancer-"

"OH!"

"Oh my god."

"That's it!"

"That's it?"

"That's it! That's $200,000!"

And for a moment, the room devolved into chaos. Jack was pressed in from all sides, movement everywhere, as they all jumped and hooted and hollered, an explosive release of the tension that had been building for the last 20 minutes of the stream. He didn't know who's hands were on him, didn't know who's arm he had just crashed his face into in his excitement, didn't know who's shirt he tugged as the realization washed over them all.

They'd done it. They'd _actually done it_. They'd just raised $200,000 for charity, when so many people said it couldn't be done, when even they had been doubtful of this outcome. But they'd done it.

Mark was already stepping forward, leaning around Jack to point at the camera, with this wide silly grin on his face like someone had slapped him too hard, and he didn't bother moving out of his way, just let him lean against him as Tyler and Ethan leaned in from his other sides.

"WE DID IT!" he yelled at the camera, his finger jabbing forward almost accusatorially, and Jack added his raw voice to the holler that went up at that. "We did it, and it's all thanks to you guys, just, wow."

He pressed a shaking hand through his hair, taking a moment to look around the room, at the men pressed in around him, at the crew still standing at their stations, muffling their cheering so as not to interfere, at the little tablet propped up in front of him, where the donations were still trickling in. He looked gobsmacked, his eyes wide, and he had to take a quick moment before he continued.

Jack didn't think about twice about slipping his arm around his side, pulling him closer with a giddy grin, as Ethan wrapped his arms around him from behind. For just a moment, there was no discomfort, no uncertainty, no fear. It was just four friends standing in a circle, blown away at what they and their fans had accomplished, and Jack soaked in the feeling of the moment greedily, trying to take in everything so he'd have it for later.

"You guys did this. And I'm just so blown away. I never would have imagined, $200,000, in monetary donations alone, do you guys realize how insane that is? But you guys did it, and it's all going to be matched, every penny you donated is going to be doubled, and it's going to help out this incredible cause. Look what you all have done. That's $400,000 going to Save The Children, and I've never been more proud."

Mark kept going, rambling in a breathless voice as they all tried to catch their breath, thanking them over and over, and Jack let him go, just grinned around at the people around him as they all started to relax, to really soak it in. All the planning, worth it. All the sleepless nights, worth it. All the punishments, worth it. All the discomfort, worth it.

"God, y'all must have really wanted me to kiss Jack."

He didn't let his eyes snap up at that, no matter how much they wanted to, didn't let his breath hitch and the fear and anxiety start to take him again. Because even that . . . worth it.

The next few minutes were a blur for Jack. He listened as they all said their thank you's, had no trouble saying his, earnest and genuine, and he could feel the way his eyes fluttered and his voice choked a little around his impossibly wide grin when he did, because it was honestly so much more than he was expecting.

The donations kept pouring in, even after the time had technically passed, even after they had hit their goal. Some people donated just to say thank you, thank you for the stream and making them laugh and doing all of this to help the cause. Some people were just a little later, saying they still wanted to contribute, even if it wasn't matched.

Some people donated to squeal about the kiss, of course.

They wanted it now. The fanbase was a rabid creature after all, and while the Septiplier shippers in the group were only a small percentage, they were still loud.

When Mark had first suggested it, they'd gone nuts. The Twitter posts had been insane, the words spreading like wildfire, dragging in more and more viewers as some people came to see just out of morbid curiosity. There were some people fast enough to get little pieces of fan art out before the stream ended, which was _insane_. Even those who didn't ship the two seemed excited by the prospect, like it was some epic dare that they'd been waiting on for months.

Jack still didn't know how to feel about that. But he was tired now, drained after the insanity that was the stream, and he could feel himself starting to wind down, only the buzz of the people around him keeping him going, and he found he couldn't really find it in himself to get worked up just then. It would probably happen later anyway. Jack was here for another week, and they had plenty of time to record that, and there were other more pressing things going on just then. Mark would probably just make a separate video on it.

That was incredibly naive, yes, but he was tired and worn, cut him some slack.

Jack leaned against the counter before him as Mark went back to rambling, his mind flashing over the last few hours. So much had happened, it felt like it had been days now, the dull memory of stuffing the balloons with Mark and Jaime seeming like some far off memory that definitely didn't happen last night. Little images passed before his mind's eye, fleeting and quick. Ethan's tongue poked out as he tried to measure out the right amount of flour for his pancakes. Tyler's body taught, the little smirk on his face as he aimed a nerf bow down the hall at them. Mark's look of determination as he carved the name into Jack's stomach.

He could almost _feel_ the little mark on his hip, like he'd burned it into him, instead of just written it in shitty marker.

Ethan's raucous laughter as Mark painfully explained what kinky was, the way he'd swallowed so hard as he opened his mouth for the ball gag, eyes only on the camera as the pink tinged his cheeks, his corded arms pressed together as Tyler wrapped duct tape around his wrists-

He shoved that particular memory away. He'd deal with it in the dark some time, when he wasn't so . . . tired.

"Here, or on the couch?"

Mark was saying something to him, and he snapped his eyes back, chasing the sluggish hints of sleep from his mind as he looked up at the other man from his spot on the counter.

"What?"

"Where do you wanna do this?"

And suddenly he wasn't feeling quite so sleepy. His mouth was dry again, his heart was racing in his chest, and he had to swallow a few times before he could manage an answer.

"What, kiss?"

There was no point in asking. That was the only thing he could be talking about. He was going to do it now. Right now. While the cameras were still rolling. Where Jack had no escape, and no more time to think about it, because he'd spent the whole stupid stream trying _not_ to think about it, and now he was out of time.

"Yeah."

Where'd he want to do this? Where did he want to get his first kiss from his crush, his first kiss from a man in years, maybe even his first kiss from a man at all if you considered David and Josh boys, and oh, _shit_ , he was pretty sure he couldn't make it all the way to the couch without just noping out of there.

"Uh . . . here's fine, I guess."

"Okay, Ethan and Tyler, shoo, this is our moment."

He was grinning all stupidly, his eyes on Tyler as they laughed at him, Ethan poking fun and being bouncy and stupid and _Ethan_ , and Jack was just glad he wasn't looking at him anymore. He slowly pushed away from the counter, rocking back on his heels, his arms jittery, hands looking for something to do, as he avoided everyone's eye, even the camera's. Tyler was pushing Ethan out of frame now, and he followed them with his eyes on their shoulders, suddenly wishing very much that he was going with them instead of being left alone in front of all of these virtual people studying his every move, and Mark who was standing too close and just pouring off heat.

Okay. This was happening. No need to panic. Three seconds. It wouldn't be that long. Three seconds passed in a blink of an eye. He could just close his eyes and freeze. No need to move or do anything. It was just a game, gay chicken, just don't react. They could just pucker up, touch lips, and wait for someone to tell them it was long enough. It could even be funny . . . maybe . . . in the future, when he looked back on it.

And . . . well, he could also still back out, if he really wanted to. He had an out. Mark had caught him on the next break, dragging him away from the group, a nervous expression on his face, and apologized, all earnest and genuine, and Jack had wanted to punch him for being so damn likable even in a situation like this. He'd told him it had been spur of the moment, said he should have asked first, said he wouldn't make him do it if he didn't want to. And Jack, because he was too fucking nice, had told him it was fine, laughed and reminded him if Mark was cool with it, he was too, and he'd really tell him if he did anything that bothered him.

The lie was way too easy to tell, his body kicking into that same kind of autopilot, the stupid grin on his face as he waved off Mark's concerns with a "as long as yeh don't stick yer damn tongue down my throat, we're fine."

But he could still run if he needed to. Mark said he'd take care of it, that he could back out at any time, that he could play it off and the fans would understand.

That lie had been too easy to believe.

But he wasn't going anywhere. He'd decided. He was going to stand here and take it like a man, because once it was over, it was over. It'd probably be terribly awkward, anyways. Really obviously two very straight goofy guys kissing for a camera. Mark would probably make it a joke, be stupid with it, make faces. It wouldn't be bad. It would happen, and then it would be over, and he wouldn't make it weird.

Because that had worked so well in the past.

Mark was still talking, and Jack shifted uncomfortably on his feet, turning to glance at Pam, who was giving him a silly face. He stuck his tongue out at her, and knew it would look like he was sticking his tongue out at her camera instead, but he didn't mind that. Now that he had made his decision, he just wanted it over with, and there was a hint of irritation floating through him as he waited for Mark to _hurry the fuck up_ and why was he still talking?

"Okay, are we in frame?" The red-haired man asked, as he stepped a pace away from Jack before he turned to him, further than he'd been a moment before, his face still fixed towards the crew and whoever he was talking to. Not looking at Jack, even as he ran fingers through his messy hair. Which seemed to just distract him more.

"Okay, wait, wait, let me fix the hair."

Jack didn't bother touching his own. If it was messy, it was messy, and it probably looked fine regardless. Wasn't like anyone was going to be paying attention to his hair.

"Okay," and Jack was pretty sure he was gonna punch him if he said "okay" one more time. "Let's, uh . . . we'll just . . ."

He finally looked up at Jack, his hand flying back up to fiddle with his hair for a moment, his other hand reaching out to touch the counter, like he was steadying himself. Jack waited, a nervous little grin on his face as he turned to give the camera a quick thumbs up, before shoving his hands in his pocket. Real quick. No trouble. Wouldn't be weird.

Mark was stepping forward now, closing the gap between them, glancing back at Pam and Jaime one last time to make sure they were ready and the cameras were rolling, and then he was leaning forward, and oh god, this was really happening-

And then he was gone, his face pulled a comfortable distance away again as he grinned at the camera, face bright and smile taking up half his visage, and he was laughing just a little too loudly. Jack laughed too, taking an edge off the tension, damning Mark for teasing him and just wanting him to hurry it up.

"Kiss him!" Somebody yelled, and Jack was pretty sure that was Jaime, and he wasn't sure if he should like her or hate her for that comment.

"Okay, okay, ready Jack?"

 _No._ "Yep." His voice sounded surprisingly steady, only breaking a little as he continued. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He should joke, say something stupid. What had he said to Mark earlier about this? There needed to be something to ease the tension, but he couldn't think of anything, couldn't pull a single funny thing out of his stupid brain besides "Is it gonna tickle" again, and jesus, just kiss him already and end the suffering.

Mark's hand went to his shoulder, and it felt awkward and wrong, too heavy, like he wasn't holding his own weight, and Jack closed his eyes, waiting for the little echoes in his ears that would tell him he was really close, waiting for the feeling of his breath on his face, his warm skin against his own.

But it never came. Mark laughed again, pulling away, saying something that Jack didn't catch to Ethan and laughing loud as he ran his fingers through his hair again.

"Ahh, it's so weird!" the American said, and his voice jumped as he spoke. "It's . . . like . . . you're all watching me-"

Jack wasn't listening anymore. Because he'd figured it out, the realization clicking into place to wash away all the jittery energy that had been shaking through him.

Mark was nervous.

Mark was nervous about kissing him. He'd been the one to come up with the stupid idea, had been teasing about it throughout the whole stream, and now when it came time to carry through on his stupid promises, he was blanching.

If he didn't want to do it, he could have just kept his stupid mouth shut. If he didn't want to do it, he shouldn't have invited Jack to the stream. If he didn't want to do it, he shouldn't have posed for those stupid pictures that started all this back up again in the first place.

It was _his fault_. And now he was chickening out.

Jack set his jaw, his hands coming up without another thought, trapping the stupid man's face between them, stopping the little nervous jig he had been doing, pulling him back into reach with a "Come here, you stupid idiot."

And then he kissed him.

It had been on autopilot. Again. What hadn't been during this damn stream? He'd acted on instinct, fueled by irritation at the red-haired man's indecision, his body knowing what to do, because he _had_ kissed people before, just not like this. He'd just . . . done what felt right then.

But that easiness was gone the moment his pressed his lips against his, the startlingly real feeling of rough skin against his brought everything back into bright contrast, and he was suddenly very aware that he was holding Mark's face, and _kissing him_.

And it was awkward. He knew it was going to be. They had a camera on them, a whole room full of people, thousands of people online, all watching them, and they were both very still, as if moving might get them jumped. Jack took a moment, trying to breath carefully, focusing on the difference in textures on his lips. They were . . . firmer than he was used to, which was different. But it should still feel more wrong than this, right?

"One."

Someone was counting for them. Or maybe multiple someone's. Jack wasn't paying attention to them. His eyes were shut tight, his hands shaking just a little, as he waited. Why in god's name had he turned his face? He should have just done it straight on, but instead he had his head tilted to the side, not like a chaste kiss, but like he was about to make out with him. He was afraid to move now, to fix it, even as he wondered how this looked to everyone else.

"Two."

Were they counting slower? Because this was definitely too long. Three seconds should have passed already. He was having trouble keeping his lips still, pursed as far as they would go to keep Mark at a comfortable distance, but they were starting to twitch in protest, giving away just a little, relaxing the tiniest bit, just so he wasn't straining so hard to keep them that way.

It was almost over. They were going to say it any second now, and they would be free, and-

And then Mark opened his mouth. Not much. Just a tiny bit, like he needed to catch a quick breath, only he still had those lips molded over Jack's, and it did not feel quite as innocent as just breathing, and he made this little noise in the back of his throat that had electricity shooting through Jack, at the feeling, the sound, the implication. His own lips parted on instinct, a little whispered gasp on his tongue, before he ripped away, wheeling back on his heels with strangled shout.

Cheers filled the air, drowning out the pounding of Jack's heart as he visciously scrubbed a hand over his mouth. There was laughter and crowing, and it sounded for a moment like it was coming from a different world as he struggled to bring himself back down into the now, to put that past him, because that had been the whole point, and it was over now. Mark was already stepping away, grinning a stupid, red-faced grin as he waved Tyler and Ethan back into the shot.

"What'd it feel like?" someone jeered, and Jack let the little noise of frustration out of his mouth, loud and exaggerated for the audience around him, and scrubbed at his face again, eyes closed, shuddering.

"AaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAH, _why_ did yeh make me do that, internet?" he asked to no one in particular, and the laughter picked up again, Mark's giddy chuckling making a harmony with Tyler's timbre bark.

They were trying to drag him back in, get him back into frame so they could finish the stream, so everyone could go home after they're long day of work. It was over. It was done. They'd done everything they'd set out to do, and it was time for some well earned rest.

Only Jack knew damn well he wasn't going to sleep well, despite his exhaustion. Because it had been a little awkward, yeah. The whole stream had been a little awkward. But also warm, and nice, and fun, and exciting and . . . and that applied to the kiss as well.

And Jack didn't want to admit it to himself, didn't want to accept the fact that had settled over him like a big blanket, warm but stifling.

That moment, when Mark had opened his mouth just so, the little sound he'd made, low in his throat, like a clip of a groan, the warm feeling of his blushing cheeks under his fingers . . .

He wanted more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to capture the feel of those last few minutes of excitement from Mark's November Charity stream, and that included reading out the names of donors. And I didn't want to just keep making up names for it, so I figured I'd use commenters for it? (Telling you here, 'cause I'm hoping it was a surprise for some of you). It seemed fairly equivalent to me, at least, hope y'all don't mind.
> 
> I did bastardize a few usernames, since I was trying to be realistic with how they would read it out, and I figured they'd probably drop a lot of the trailing numbers.
> 
>  **If anyone is uncomfortable with my use of your username in this story, or if you would like me to change it to something else, or want me to change anything else, please don't hesitate to ask.** You can request a change in the comments, or directly to me privately through my gmail under this same username - PoemIsDead
> 
> Thanks lovelies <3 Hope you enjoyed!


	15. Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluuuuuuuuufffffffffffffffffffffffff~ (you're welcome Kate <3)

Jack sat at one of the kitchen bar stools, nursing a cup of coffee and staring blankly out at the jumble of recording equipment still scattered around the dining room. It was eerily quiet now, with the house empty, 75% percent of the occupants still sleeping and the rest of gang gone back to their respective dwellings.

Jack took it as a peacefully kind of silence though, quiet time to do his usual morning reflection over coffee as his brain tried to come back into the world of the living. He followed the erratic lines of the mangle of wires across the floor and the furniture alike, noting that it was some kind of cosmic miracle that no one had managed to fall or trip over them at all during their 12 hours of streaming. He looked over the props still strewn across the crappy folding chairs, and wondered how such mundane things could make so many people happy, could do so much good. He looked down at the place he was sitting now, chair pulled out at the little island, and decided it was probably the most anticlimactic place to have a first kiss in the history of the world.

Probably not true, but he certainly felt like it.

It made a good enough story though. Yeah, I had a huge crush on a guy once, and he kissed me basically on a bet on live camera, in front of several thousand people, after wearing a ball gag, and cracking raw eggs over his head, and letting me shock him with an e-collar. And no, it wasn't sexy.

You always lied to make stories like that better. Wouldn't be as funny if it was sexy. Then it was just gay.

Not that he had a problem with that. That was possibly one of the weirdest parts about this. It wasn't that he was freaked out at the idea of being gay, because he wasn't. He'd thought he was when he was younger, and he'd gotten all of the freak out out of him back then. No, it was the fact that it was one of his best friends, that he'd known for years and hadn't had any interest in for the longest time, that got him.

The constant fear that this was just somehow him being confused, and that it was going to pass.

Because he'd tried it out already. He'd kissed two guys. He'd dated one of them, and really, _really_ tried to get into it. He'd thought he was sexy, and had naughty thoughts about him, like any teenager would, and he'd been _really_ excited at the prospect of, you know, trying things out with him. But then, when it had actually come down to it, when they'd gotten to the _touching_ part, it just wasn't . . . there.

What if that's all this was? What if he was just going through another patch of confusion, and it was going to pass? What if he decided to push things, to takes things further, _oh god_ , and it just went away? He could fuck everything up so bad, he could really hurt some feelings and ruin some friendships and tear down some walls that didn't need to be down. And it wasn't like he really had a chance in hell anyways, because Mark was definitely straight.

Right?

Except . . . when he'd kissed him . . . well, that wasn't very straight, was it? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding, but that hadn't _felt_ very straight. The way he'd opened his mouth, made that little noise, like he wanted to go deeper. And he'd been so nervous beforehand. Not disgusted. Nervous. Like if you had to kiss a pretty girl on live camera with all these people watching, and oh lord, just _what if?_

If this wasn't a phase . . . and if Mark was . . . interested . . . would he? Would he try dating Mark?

It was weird to just sit down and think about this now, after all the aversion and just stupid crushing and horniness, to strip all that away and just think about it straight on. But it was something that really did need to happen either way. Because he couldn't just keep pretending that this wasn't . . . something.

Mark was . . . nice. Sweet. Caring. All traits he'd looked for in girlfriend's before. Was that the right way to think about this? Just compare what he looked for in girlfriends? Or did you consider different things when looking at boyfriends-, nope, he didn't like that word. He was not looking into a _boyfriend_. He was thinking about dating a dude, that was okay, but something about _boyfriend_ was just . . . wrong.

Okay, maybe he was still struggling with this.

Just ignore the terminology for now, he'd come back to that later. What did he look for in a girlfriend? Nice, sweet, caring, yep, he'd been over those. Good sense of humor, of course, that was a given. Someone who could take care of themselves, but also loved being pampered. That was . . . probably right? He wasn't sure exactly how Mark felt about being pampered. And he wasn't sure how he felt about pampering him. Was that wrong if he was a guy? Or maybe it depended on the role you took in the relationship?

So, wait, was one of them the girl and one of them the guy? Because he wasn't okay being the girl, but the idea of _Mark_ being the girl was even worse, and nope, he'll come back to that one too. Maybe when he had more alcohol in him.

Fine, fine, fine, what else in a girlfriend? What had he liked about his previous relationships? Funny, enjoyed the same kind of things but also had some different interested, check and check. Liked it when they gave each other stupid nicknames, yep. Liked it when he gave them sweet little kisses, on the cheek or on the nose, and why could he picture that one just fine? What else, what else . . . skin. Soft skin and nice hair and pretty eyes, and he liked freckles too . . .

Maybe that was too much comparison. But . . . well, that was still kind of a maybe, right? He probably fit enough criteria to at least be a viable dating option. And if they had worked this long as friends, that was a good sign for a relationship, wasn't it?

Or would it be completely different? Would it be too hard, being long distance, or too awkward with all the pressure from the fans, or too weird to go from a friendship to a relationship like that? Maybe they had been friends too long, and this just wasn't going to work any other way.

He was going to do his head in thinking like this. What he really needed was time. Just more time to figure this out. Maybe a chance to . . . experiment and . . . confirm some things. Which he had no idea how in god's name he was going to manage that, but he could figure it out on the fly. His coffee was starting to get dangerously low, and cold, and there was plenty of work to get done this morning whenever the boys got up.

For now, he was content with the fact that he was maybe okay with the idea of being gay with Mark.

Fuck, that was a sentence he never thought would apply to his life.

  


* * *

  


Jack was half way through his second cup of coffee before he heard anyone else stirring in the house, and on to his third before that someone managed to make it all the way down the stairs.

Mark was still wearing his pajama bottoms, and an old sleeveless black shirt that Jack half expected to have a faded band logo on, and looking much more bleary-eyed than the hour gave him any right to be. Jack grinned as he watched him pick his way through all the equipment, cursing under his breath and looking like he was _trying_ to kick every chair he came across, and he let him get most of the way over before he let the teasing begin.

"Mornin' Sleeping Beauty," he called, mindful of his volume as he couldn't hear anyone else wandering around yet. Mark glanced up, having to shake his head to knock the stray hair out of his way, and in doing so somehow managed to pitch himself off balance, one hand snatching out to grab one of the tripods and start to take it down with him.

Jack abandoned his coffee with a laugh, dodging around the island and wading into the sea of wires as Mark cursed and huffed and tried to disentangle himself from the mess.

"Wait, hold on, stop movin' yeh doof!"

"Ahhhh!" Mark cried, and it sounded a little annoyed, but mostly way too over the top to be taken seriously. "Oh, god, Jack, the tech is trying to eat me, I knew it was gonna end this way."

Jack rolled his eyes and scoffed, wrapping one arm around his waist and leaning down to tug at one of the wires, Mark throwing an arm around his shoulder to steady himself. "Yeah, psh, like that's the way yer gonna go."

"I mean, did you really expect anything else?"

"'m still hopin' yer eaten by squirrels," he muttered as helped him step out into the relatively clear area just inside the kitchen. It didn't seem right that the American was still blinking sleep out of his eyes and was still somehow being witty. Or fair that he was radiating heat like a goddamn campfire.

Mark laughed as he looked down at his feet, setting them carefully flat against the tile, as if reassuring himself he was on safe ground, and Jack took the quick opportunity to look over him, puffy eyes and messy hair, and he smelled like spearmint. He didn't even think as he brought one hand up to run it through that red hair, tousling it lightly with a little grin.

"Way to make an entrance, buddy," he said with a little chuckle, pulling himself from the gentle grip Mark had him in and making his way back towards his coffee, already missing the warmth of his hands. "I'm sure yeh woke everyone else up with that one."

"No one to wake," Mark replied easily as he headed for the coffee machine himself, his voice still sounding a little sleep-rough. "Tyler and Ethan are already gone."

"Gone where?" He was 98% sure he had not had any prior knowledge of them leaving, and the sudden knowledge that he was alone in the house with Mark was doing funny things to his gut.

"One of Ethan's friends' birthday party. He's a couple hours away, so they left early."

"Oh. Not someone yeh know?"

"Nah, I know 'em, but Tyler and Ethan know him better. Besides, I got too much work to get done," he said, gesturing towards all the scattered equipment. Jack cringed at that, thinking back to how nice the idea had been to just leave it all for the morning, even though he knew he'd regret it.

"And I didn't want to leave you alone, of course."

"Oh."

There was probably an appropriate reaction to that buried somewhere in his head, but he was having a tremendous time finding it, because that was unexpectedly sweet, and he was having trouble feeling guilty about it like he knew he probably should.

"Thank you."

"No problem," Mark said with a grin, looking over his shoulder for a moment before turning his attention back to the coffee he was pouring. "Not gonna leave you here alone. You might break my shit."

Jack grinned at that, and he felt himself relaxing into his chair with a weird giddy feeling, bringing the coffee to his lips with both hands.

"More like yer worried what I might find."

"Hey, as long as you stay out of my room, you ain't gonna find nothin'."

"Really? Nothing lyin' around?"

"What, like porn?"

"Old _magezine_ porn," Jack clarified, and they both laughed loud at that, the Irishman snickering as he thought back to the video, the stupid jokes and the laughter and the fun, before Mark continued.

"Yeah, I got a whole bookshelf of that in my room, but I only put that out for my _special_ guests."

"Oh god, yeh got a bookshelf full of crotch novels too?"

"Nah, didn't have room with my shrine to you taking up so much space."

_Don't react._

"Oh god, alright Mr. Yanderiplier."

"Only for you, baby."

Jack was definitely blushing, and smiling, but he hid both of those behind his giant coffee cup as he took another long drink, and watched over the lip as Mark started to pull out eggs and bacon and orange juice from the fridge.

"You want breakfast?" he asked, with a cute little smile, and Jack didn't dare put down his cup as he nodded.

Yeah, he could kind of picture dating Mark.

He could also picture it going terribly wrong, but for now he just let the happiness of spending time with him rule over anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I was looking up slang terms for romance novels, trying to see if I could find something Irish- or British-specific, and I came across the term "cliterature" and I'm dead xDDDD


	16. Secrets

When they'd eaten a strangely hearty breakfast - at an hour that was certainly not breakfast appropriate - the two took a moment to sip on the last of the orange juice and stare out over the mess of technology sprawled across the dining room. It was . . . not a heartening sight, to say the least. Tangled wires and tripods and cameras with their connections thrown around were scattered all across the room, various odds and ends creeping outside of the dining room's confines to invade the living room and kitchen both, and there were all kinds of other things in the mix as well. Extra balloons, markers and a paint set, several strands of leftover tinsel and a long spool of twine, and empty water bottles _everywhere_ , as no one had really bothered to keep track of them during the stream.

It was a daunting task laid out before them. But Jack couldn't really find it in himself to be annoyed by it. Cleaning and organizing, it really wasn't so bad. Maybe a little tedious, but satisfying at the very least. And with the mood he was in, the way Mark was grinning with one hand on his hip as he shook the hair from his eyes . . . eh, it wouldn't be so bad.

"So," Mark said, downing the rest of his juice in one quick gulp and letting out a satisfied sigh as he set the glass on the island. "Where to start."

"Should probably get the wires up first," Jack said with a little grin, cutting his eyes at the American as he said it. "Don't need ta be trippin' over all that shit, Mr. Clutz."

"Hey, I'm a very graceful man."

"Sure yeh are."

"I'm basically a ballerina!"

Jack snorted at that, licking his lips to taste the last of his own orange juice as he stepped forward, reaching for the closest set of wires.

As he'd expected, it was fairly tedious work. Jack ended up taking on the mess of wires, wrapping them up carefully and pinning them each with a rubber band from the bundle of them he'd shoved in his pocket. The hardest part was just trying to keep all of them organized and paired with their appropriate devices, which got harder and harder the more he got through. Mark came behind him, cleaning up trash, organizing odds and ends, and sorting through all the remaining props, saving those that might be useful and trashing those that had served their purpose.

They talked a little as they worked, but it was mostly done in comfortable silence, neither of them really needing to say anything, just focused on their work. A relaxed kind of thing, almost serene, just working in harmony, and Jack marveled again at how wonderful their relationship had become over the time they knew each other. It was one thing to have a friend that made you laugh or smile, who always had good stories to tell and was happy to listen to yours in turn. But there was something . . . special about having a friend you could just be quiet with.

He wasn't sure when Mark had become that kind of friend, but he was happy it had happened. It was so . . . comfortable. He used that word too much, but that's just what it was. Even his weird homoerotic flashes hadn't been enough to fuck it up. Which probably said more about Mark than himself, but still.

Jack glanced over at the friend in question just in time to see him tossing a bundle of spare tinsel over his shoulder, the scratchy material swinging along over exposed skin and down his black shirt, blending in save for the silver speckles, and Jack found himself grinning as he saw the stray sparkles already sticking to his clothes. He was gonna shine for days.

Mark caught his eye as he reached down to grab a few more bottles, his eyebrows up as he followed Jack's eyes, before turning to grin at him like an idiot.

"Now _this_ is how you wear tinsel," he said in what could only be assumed to be a Mark-interpretation of a sexy voice, and Jack snorted in disdain as the American used his free hand to toss the strand around his neck like a feather boa. " _This_ is style."

He did his best not to think about the last time one of them had "worn" tinsel, that particular memory still sparking a touch of anxiety, even with it feeling so distant now.

"Yeah, well, _now_ you look like a ballerina."

"I'd do a little pirouette and everything if I wasn't so sure I'd break something."

Jack snorted again at that image, picturing him in a tu-tu (which wasn't hard, considering he'd been in one before, on camera) doing clumsy little spins in his tinsel boa.

"So much for you being graceful," he muttered with a grin, but Mark didn't seem to catch it.

"Ahh, I wish I was still dating one of my exes right about now," the red-haired man said as he struggled to add one more bottle to his overflow arms. "She _loooooved_ to clean. Like, it was some kind of addiction for her."

"Yeah, I had a girlfriend like that once."

"Yeah? I wonder if it's, like, a nesting thing. I remember reading pregnant women like to nest, maybe it's in their genes or something."

"I mean, I've known a few guys who did the same thing."

"Oh, really? Maybe they're like . . . more homey-type guys? Or more motherly?"

Why did that spark a bit of irritation in him?

"Well, one of them was pretty manly. Real buff, big beard and all. Just liked to clean."

"Oh, I'm not saying they aren't manly. Just like, they're more caretaker types, ya know? Like, more estrogen-y in that."

"I'm pretty sure nothing about him was 'estrogen-y'," Jack shot back, and the tone of his voice was a little more cutting than he'd meant it to be. Why was he feeling so annoyed all of the sudden? It was a stupid thing to get miffed about. He knew Mark didn't mean anything by it. And it probably had some kind of biological truth to it. But he still wanted to fight him on it. To prove him wrong.

There were a few beats of silence, and slowly, the irritation started to slip from him, barely there long enough to warm him, and Jack turned slightly sheepish eyes up to Mark, who was staring at him with his brow drawn.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." His voice was softer now, and he couldn't hold eye contact for more than a moment before he was turning back to rewrap the cord in his hands, making sure it was unnecessarily even.

There were another few moments of silence, painfully awkward, and wrong, after all their easiness, and Jack spoke just to fill the air, to try to get things back to normal.

"My first girlfriend was actually really testosterone-y, but yeh wouldn't know it teh look at her." Jack tossed the newly wrapped cord onto the island counter and reached for the next one, his hands moving carefully as he focused on his task more than his words. "Like, she was really girly, lots of makeup and high heels and jewelry, and everything was pink, but she loved teh fight and drink and she _loved_ muscle cars. She got a lot of those, like, car magazines?"

Jack risked a quick look back at Mark, worried he had really ruined the mood, but the American was smiling as he pressed another bottle into the jumbled mess of them in his arms.

"Oh, yeah, I had a girlfriend like that once," Mark said in a casual tone, and Jack felt some of the tension slip, falling away as quickly as it had appeared. "She punched me on a dare once, and it left, like, this massive bruise. Shocked the hell out of me."

Jacked laughed a little. "Where'd she get yeh?"

"Oh, just on the arm. She didn't, like, punch me in the jaw or anything." Mark laughed as he stepped carefully over some of the remaining wire, heading towards the trash bag he had laid out in the kitchen. "But she was wearing this Hello Kitty ring? And I swear it left an imprint on my arm for days, and I was so worried I was just gonna have this stupid kitty cat mark on me for the rest of my life."

They were both laughing now, Mark doing his best not to drop his bottles, and it was fine again. No more awkwardness. Just shooting the shit with his best friend, talking about old girlfriends. And maybe that should have been weird, with his crush and all, but it just felt . . . normal.

"Yeah, mine had a serious thing for cats," he told him. Mark was staring down at the bag at his feet with a look of mild frustration, and Jack didn't even stop to think about it as he stepped over ot hold it open for him, not breaking the conversation as he did. "She really wanted one, but we were still in our dorms at the time, so she had to wait until she got her own place."

"This was your first girlfriend?" Mark asked, and Jack missed the strange tone, the curiosity there, his mind focusing on holding open the bag just right as he waited for Mark to tip in the bottles.

"Yea."

"You didn't start dating until you were in college?"

"No, I dated before that, I just-"

Jack froze, the words caught harshly in his throat as he realized what he said.

_Shit. Fuck, shit._

Fucking hell, how did he recover that? He needed an excuse, and he needed one fast, because he'd fucked that up, and the longer he sat here not saying anything, the more obvious his meaning became. What was another reason he could have for saying it like that? What was an excuse he could use that wasn't "I just dated a guy before"?

"I- . . ."

Maybe he'd have been able to come up with something if he wasn't suddenly having a little meltdown, because he'd just been thinking about this, and he'd only just considered the idea of it again, and he hadn't had time to decide if that's what he wanted, or if he even wanted to _tell_ Mark he might have a thing for guys, and he just couldn't get his words together enough to say anything right.

"You just?"

And Mark was grinning. That little gobshite was grinning at him like he'd just won an Oscar for his portrayal of the biggest douche in the world, and Jack couldn't decide if he wanted to run or punch the fecker in the face.

He instead settled for a glare and a seethed, "Fuck you" before he dropped the bag back to the ground and stalked angrily back to his pile of cords, hands flying to them on autopilot, heart racing as he tried to hide in his work again, his back turned decidedly towards the other man. His legs were shaking, his hands too, and suddenly running was looking much more enticing by the second, and there was probably some excuse he could use to get out of this room for a while. Like he had to go to the bathroom or something.

And then maybe he could just stay there for the next few hours until Mark forgot he existed.

"No, wait, _wait!_ "

The sound of the bottles hitting the tile floor made a weird sort of melody behind the rush of blood in his ears, and Jack froze, the blush working its way all the way through him, and he was pretty sure he looked like a fucking tomato now, and he wanted to run so bad, but there was Mark, coming around to stand there, with his hands out across the counter like he was reaching for him, only the corner of the island separating them now.

"Sorry," he said in a rush, and Jack risked a quick glance at the worried face a few feet from his own before he looked back to the wire in his hands. It was thick and black and really hard to wrap, so he just twisted it slowly between worried fingers. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I just . . . you just surprised me, is all."

"You're fine," Jack muttered, not looking up, just watching the way the fat cord twisted away from his pressing hands, his lips pressed in a hard line. This felt surreal, standing here, and he needed to speak up now if he was going to stop Mark thinking what he was obviously thinking, because his silence was just confirming it. But he just wished so fucking bad that he was in a game, and could just load a save, 'cause he'd messed this one up bad, and he wanted a do over.

"So . . ." Mark said after a few moments of silence, and Jack watched the way his hands pulled back to press against the edge of the counter, his fingers pulling at it, almost fidgety. "You've . . . dated guys then?"

" _A_ guy," Jack corrected sharply, only to snap his mouth shut as the warmth spread hotly across his cheeks. Why couldn't he just shut up?

"What, didn't . . . didn't like it?"

Jack didn't want to have this conversation. Not yet. He wasn't ready for it. He wasn't prepared. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. Hell, he didn't even know the answer to that question, much less any of the others Mark was inevitably going to throw at him. He was in for an interrogation, and he just _wasn't ready_.

"I don't fockin' know," he said, irritation in his voice as he looked away from the thing in his hands, craning his head to look out at the room, so that Mark wasn't even in his peripheral vision. He couldn't look at him, he couldn't, he couldn't . . .

He'd just told his best friend he dated a guy. He'd just told his _straight crush_ he might have been gay.

"Hey, I'm not . . ." and Jack turned back to look at him, because his voice sounded so . . . soft, and genuine, and he managed to hold his eye for just a moment, both of them looking uncomfortable, before he broke away again and stared at one of the bottles on the floor instead.

He'd managed to spill a lot of water with that. They'd have to mop.

"I'm not judging you, man. Like, we all get experimental, and even if it wasn't, like, a phase or anything, I still thinks it's great."

There were a few beats of silence, neither of them moving, as Jack processed the words. A ball of tension was unraveling in his gut, one he hadn't realized was even there, as he processed it all, and it took him a moment to connect the relaxation with Mark's lack of disgust.

He didn't sound . . . upset. Just surprised. And as horribly embarrassing as this whole thing was, that was . . . nice.

"I mean, unless he was a douchebag or something?"

Jack snorted at that, and a little more of tension faded, and he wasn't trying to strangle the cord in his hand any more when he answered with a little smile.

"Nah, he was fine."

"Ah. Just didn't work out?"

"Yeah. I mean, we grew up in a really Catholic area, and it just . . . didn't work, I guess."

"Ah."

That wasn't exactly the truth. But true enough.

"Do you . . ." and Jack was pretty sure he knew what he was going to ask, and he wanted to run again, but he stayed right where he was, shoulders slumped, and closed his eyes as he waited for the question. "Do you think you like guys too then? Or was it just a . . . like a . . ."

"I don't know." His voice was a whisper, but then he cleared his throat, and it strengthened as he continued. "I thought I didn't, but I don't know, lately it's been . . . confusing."

There was more silence then, tense, but not quite as terrifying, and Jack's eyes started wandering, looking around him slowly, wondering why the room didn't look any different just then, because it felt like everything had changed. Mark knew. Maybe not about his feelings towards him, and he wouldn't fuck that up like he had this, but he still knew. And that probably meant a lot of things that Jack didn't want to think about just then.

"Does anyone else know?" Mark's voice was more . . . casual, and it was starting to feel almost like a normal conversation. Like they were talking about their preferred flavor of ice cream instead of their preferred _gender_.

"My mum does," he told him honestly, his voice sounding stronger the more he spoke. "And some of my mates from high school, but I don't talk to them anymore."

"Not even Robin?"

Jack shook his head, and looked up to find Mark grinning again, and his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile back.

"So I'm the only one who knows Jackaboy's little secret?"

And now he _was_ smiling, but that "I really wanna punch you" kind of smile.

"Mark, I swear teh god-"

"I'm not gonna tell anyone, calm your tits," he said with a cheeky grin, his hands raised defensively, and Jack felt his stomach flutter, because fuck did he look good with that little crooked smile. "If you wanna be chasin' that fine boy booty, that's your business."

Jack did hit him then, whipping out with the cord to smack it across his arm. Not hard, really, but not really gentle either.

"Fuck off, yeh-"

"Sexy beast?"

"I swear to god, I will end you."

And Mark was laughing, loud, his head thrown back, and Jack was grinning, grinning at this stupid idiot, who wasn't judging him, who wasn't disgusted, who was already making jokes because _it was okay_ , it was normal, and he was beautiful, and suddenly Jack was laughing too, shaky, breathless, the cord slipping out of his fingers into the chair next to him as he brought his hands up to wrap around his chest, holding in the weird feeling that felt like it was gonna shatter right through his ribcage.

"Thank you."

It just slipped out, between his shaky laughter, and it sounded way too genuine in the light mood Mark had set. He almost regretted saying it, almost opened his mouth to make a joke, because obviously Mark wanted to keep it light, and it was easier when it was light, and he wasn't fucking things up with his weirdness. But then Mark's arms were pulling him in, wrapping around him, holding him tight and firm against his chest, and Jack wasn't sorry anymore.

"Of course, Seán," he murmured into his hair. 

And Jack was crying, crying like a goddamn child, the kind of crying he hadn't let himself do in so long, because he was an adult now, and he had things he had to take care of, and he didn't have the luxury of crying like that. But Mark was _giving_ him that luxury right now, and he couldn't stop it, even if he tried.

It was like all this awful tension that he'd been wrapped up in for so long was being unraveled, and all the emotion that had been tied up with it was suddenly let loose like flood waters, and he was smiling through his tears even as he sobbed into Mark's black shirt, the fabric sticking to his face, and, _oh god,_ he'd needed this, and he didn't even know it.

Mark held him, steady arms supporting him, one wrapped around his back, holding him up and close while the other cupped the back of his head, pressing his face against his shoulder. And he just stayed there, steady as a rock, and murmured soft nothings to him, telling him it was okay, that he was here, that everything was going to be okay, and Jack wanted to kiss him, but his face was all wet, and he hadn't gotten that far, if he ever did, but that was still okay, because Mark still loved him.

Even if it was just as a friend, Mark loved him. And just then, that was all he needed.

Mark let him cry himself out into his shoulder, rubbing a soothing hand against his back as his tears started to subside, and Jack slowly released the death grip he'd somehow gotten on Mark's shirt. He didn't remember moving his arms from his chest, but Mark didn't seem to mind, and he brought one hand up to ruffle his green hair as they separated, a little smile on his face.

"Better?" he asked, and Jack could only manage a little nod for a moment, not sure what his voice was going to sound like, but swallowing and answering anyway.

"Yeah. Thanks." It was wrecked, of course. But it could be worse.

"Anytime man. And hey," and his hand came out to grip Jack's arm, not hard, but enough to keep him from running. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I don't care if you're the most flamin' motherfucker on the planet. I'm staying right here. Alright?"

Jack managed a weak chuckle at that, rolling his eyes a little as he rubbed his arm. He felt better, so much better, a little weightless and puffy, but he could feel the embarrassment on the edges as well, as he realized what a fuckin' mess he must look like. He tugged his shirt up to wipe some of the wetness from his face, and took a shaky, bracing breath.

"Thanks, man. I'm still figuring that part out, but I'll keep yeh posted."

"Well, I'm here for that part too." And then, because he was Mark, and because Jack's heart just couldn't take it and the universe knew that, he laid a hand out onto the counter next to him, popped a suggestive pose, and winked at him. "And, you know, if you need someone to figure this shit out with, you just let me know."

And Jack knew, right then, that he was truly and wholly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys, thank you all for how incredible you've been. Y'all are amazing, and ya probably deserve someone who isn't such a fucking tease all the time, but you're stuck with me, so I'll take advantage of it as long as I can :]
> 
> <3


	17. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this over several very sleep-deprived days, so please excuse me if it's subpar, I just really wanted to write out a chapter. I may come back and re-edit it in the future when I've had more sleep, but no major plot points will change, I'll be sure to make note if I do.
> 
> Also, seriously, thank you all for how great you've been. I started writing this for me, like I do with all fics, and I _never_ expected it to get the kind of attention it has so far. Seeing a new comment in my inbox literally turns me into a giddy schoolgirl, and I'm just amazed any time I stop to look at the stats for this. Just, really, thank you.

Jack's hands flipped idly through the rack of t-shirts, pulling on one here and there to read the funny text or check out the artwork printed across the front or back. Lot's of Pokemon in this section, mostly first gen stuff, though some of the newer, less familiar faces were printed here and there. There was also a large selection of mermaid stuff, even in the men's section, and he wasn't sure if there was some fad thing going on that he had somehow missed, or if this particular store was just trying to start one.

Another Rick & Morty tee caught his eye, and he paused just long enough to confirm he'd already seen it before continuing his lazy search, already drifting towards the next rack. He wasn't really expecting to find any new clothes he was interested in here, but it was always worth it to stop and check. He'd been surprised before.

"Finding everything okay?"

One of the store's clerks had come around the corner, holding a big bundle of lanyards and smiling at him. Probably in his early twenties, with a shock of purple running through his otherwise dark hair, and bright blue eyes that stood out well even on his pale face. Jack felt his own smile crinkle across his face naturally as he nodded, hands still nested in the shirts.

"Yep, all good."

"Alright. Just lemme know if you need anything." The man gave him a crooked grin, not quite like Mark's, more serious, before he turned back to continue his restocking, and Jack turned back to continue his browsing.

"Nice hair."

The voice was startling close, almost whispered right in his ear, and Jack couldn't help but jump, knocking one of the shirts from the rack with a loud clatter.

"God, yeh scared me," he hissed without turning around, replacing the shirt he'd been holding and crouching down to grab the one he'd knocked over with a little sound of annoyance. Mark's laughter was hushed and impish behind him, but it sounded like he was trying to muffle it as he crouched down next to the Irishman, snatching up the hanger that had clattered just out of his reach and handing it to him.

"So . . ." Mark said in a low voice, his eyes darting over to glance at the clerk again as they both stood once more, Jack struggling to get the shirt back on the clunky hanger. "What about him?"

Jack shot him a look, trying for reprimanding but failing, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a little smile at Mark's big goofy grin and waggling eyebrows. He'd been doing this all day, and if Jack had known that this was his intent when he'd offered to take him out shopping, he would have refused outright.

Except that was a damn lie, and he knew it.

Jack's eyes darted over to examine the clerk again, who'd turned back to stocking lanyards as soon as he'd confirmed they hadn't broken anything, and did his best to subtly study him. He was . . . fairly attractive. He'd already taken note of his pretty eyes, and that hair was obviously nice, styled in a pleasing way, somehow managing not to be too flashy despite the stripe of purple. He was taller too, maybe clearing 6' or so, with a lithe frame, his light clothes clinging to his narrow hips and the bit of muscle definition that could be seen beneath it. Not incredible, he supposed, but pretty good. Above average. Might not look twice at him if not for his charming smile and deep voice.

"He's . . . okay," Jack allowed after a few long moments, his voice painfully quiet, making Mark lean in right close to hear him. He was leaning over his shoulder now, his chin almost resting there, pretending to watch Jack as he pretended to browse through the selection again, and the green-haired man resisted the urge to lean back and close the distance.

"Just okay?" Mark muttered softly, speaking near into his ear, though his eyes stayed on shirts. "What's okay about him?"

"I dunno," Jack huffed, though there wasn't really any irritation in it, and took the chance to glance back at the man in question once more, doing another once-over and confirming that, yeah, he wasn't bad. Not great. But not bad.

Not Mark, anyway.

"He's got nice eyes, I guess. And his hair is pretty cool." It felt weird to be doing this. He wasn't the type to ogle and gossip, even with women, but Mark's enthusiasm was hard to ignore, and he'd found himself drawn into more and more of these conversations as the day wore on. "And . . . he's got a nice voice?"

"Really? I didn't pay attention."

"Mmm."

They were silent for a moment, Jack flipping through the options before him slowly, not really paying attention, just enjoying the warmth starting to seep into his back just from Mark's proximity. He'd expected things to be different after Mark knew he was "okay with the gay" as the American had put it. Awkward and uncomfortable, at least for a little while, as they tried to figure out what the discovery meant for their relationship. Certainly no more easy touches or gay jokes.

But on the contrary, Mark had responded to the knowledge with nothing but positivity. And easy touches. And _lots_ of gay jokes. Never once did he hesitate to put his hands on the Irishman as he usually did, and he wasn't avoiding it either, didn't turn it into the elephant in the room like Jack had expected, instead taking every opportunity to tease and play, and just generally be okay.

It was . . . incredible really. Weeks and weeks of stress and anxiety about all this mess, and Mark had made him feel infinitely better in less than 24 hours.

He almost wished he'd brought it up sooner.

Of course, there was also the matter of the other half of his secret, but Jack was happy enough ignoring that for now.

"What about _you_?" Jack asked after another few moments of silence, his hands stilling on another shirt he'd already read several times, just stalling before he had to move to the next rack and disturb the comfort he'd found for the moment. "What d'yeh think of him?"

"Hmmm, I like his build," Mark said without hesitation, and he turned so he could look him over again, face inches from Jack's as he used his frame to hide his ogling. "He's thin, but he's got, you know, meat on his bones."

Mark punctuated the comment with a pinch to Jack's arm, shaking the lean muscle he found there and earning himself a jab in the ribs from the Irishman, which of course he just laughed at. Jack was grinning himself, feeling the way the expression crinkled around his eyes, as he stared at the tee without really seeing it, just listening to the sound of Mark's hushed little giggles and feeling the occasional brush of his breath across the back of his neck.

He braved a quick glance to his side, wanting to see the way Mark's face scrunched up when he laughed, only to find rich brown eyes fixed on him, steady and warm, and the air stilled in his throat.

"I guess I like his eyes too." Mark's voice was softer, and Jack had to look away, sharp, swallowing hard and hoping Mark didn't notice as he shoved the shirt back and flitted back through the same sets of cloth for a third time, just letting his hands act on instinct.

This was nice, and he was enjoying it, really. But there were still so many questions hanging in the air that had yet to be answered, and he was having trouble figuring out how to ask them. Mark was okay with this, obviously. He hadn't really changed the way he acted one bit, besides suddenly having a new thing to learn about his friend - which he seemed to find no end to the joy of discovering and teasing about. And that was great, things didn't get weird, it was still the same friendship, only . . .

Well, _nothing had changed_. How was he supposed to take that? Because before, Mark's goofiness and endless flirtatious had obviously been a joke, when they were both straight and Jack had just been able to treat it as another playful facet of their relationship. But now . . . if he knew Jack was possibly into guys, did continuing to flirt like this mean he was _actually_ flirting? Or was he just trying to keep things normal?

Was he doing all this to make the Irishman feel better? Was this just his way of being accepting? Because Mark was a damn good friend, and Jack knew he'd go above and beyond to make the people around him comfortable, and if that meant making jokes like this, he knew he wasn't above it. This could just be his way of accepting it, of trying to make Jack feel better in his own skin, trying to show that he was still the same person and Mark wasn't going to treat him any differently just because he might be down for Adam or Eve.

But . . . there was no way, right? This was flirting. This was a lot of flirting. And okay, yeah, they'd flirted a lot before this too, but that was when it was clear that nothing would ever happen, so it was okay. Now, there was a possibility, there was a chance, and if Mark was still pushing it . . . well, he had to know it might actually turn into something for Jack, right?

The way he caught him looking at him today, and the way he was constantly hammering him to find out what he thought of other guys, and that offer he'd made yesterday, with his hand on his hip and a wink and a coy smile behind the goofiness . . . if Mark was a chick, he'd be 90% sure she was into him.

But he wasn't a chick, and it wasn't that simple, and he couldn't be sure, and it was driving him insane.

He needed to just ask. To clear the air. Just find out if it was even a possibility, if Mark could be into a guy, even after all of his claims of heterosexuality. He needed to stop this stupid up-in-the-air back-and-forth, because he was still crushing hardcore, like a goddamn teenager, and he needed to stop acting like a child. He was a grown man. He didn't need to still be playing games with his love life. Mark was here, and he was okay with Jack and his . . . maybe you would call this bi-curious? Seemed too light of a term for the crisis that had hit him so suddenly, but it was probably appropriate.

The point was, he'd suffered weeks of uncertainty, of stress and fear and constant anxiety, when he obviously didn't have to. Mark was okay with it. He was going to be his friend through it, that much seemed pretty clear for now. And he wouldn't have even had that if he hadn't stumbled dick first right into it. He was not about to spend another agonizing few weeks trying to figure out what the flirting meant when he could just man up and fucking ask for once.

Jack's eyes flitted back to Mark's face, thoughtless, just intending to take in his face again while his gaze was averted, back on the shirts like they could somehow possibly hold any kind of interest for either of them at this point. They'd been standing at this rack for several minutes now, which was far too long for the number of articles to look at, and Mark was definitely the most interesting thing within his view. But then the American glanced back to meet his gaze, too close, a little smile playing on his lips, dark eyes just a little hooded, darting down to glance at Jack's lips as he parted them in surprise, and Jack suddenly felt like there was an entire army of butterflies fighting a war in his stomach.

And there went all his confidence. Because fuck, this man was beautiful, and he was very not, and he could probably have any plethora of women, so why would he be interested in a skinny little Irishman with too much hair and too little curves? Why would he be looking at him with those rich brown eyes and see anything other than his very platonic friend? Why would he do anything other than recoil if Jack kissed him right now?

Wow, that was . . . probably the angstiest thing he'd ever thought of.

Mark cocked his head to the side, his lips pulling up in a little amused smile, and Jack realized the man had said something and he'd literally gotten too lost in his eyes to hear it. Which, Jesus, that was embarrassing. He offered the American a nervous smile, and a laugh to match, and hoped his blush wasn't showing on his pale cheeks.

"What?"

"Nothing, nevermind," Mark answered with a laugh, shaking his head at whatever the Irishman had missed, and Jack was just opening his mouth to ask what the hell was so funny when Ethan came peeling around the corner, all bright-eyed, his blue hair a mess as he held up a black cap.

"GUYS, I FOUND A SUICUNE HAT!"

And that pretty much derailed any further agonizing he could do on the subject as the pair was pulled back into their group of friends, and the old world, where their flirting was still just a joke.

  


* * *

  


"The guy in the suit."

Jack did his best to chew his food before he swallowed it, though he was finding that harder and harder by the second. The words had been murmured, low, out of the corner of the red-haired man's mouth as he sat next to him, not even turning to look at the Irishman as he asked yet again, and Jack's eyes watered as he swallowed a big lump of hamburger he _had_ been enjoying.

Mark had kept the questions so far to strictly when they were on their own, since he was the only one privy to Jack's discovering tastes, and Jack hadn't even stopped to consider that he might out him without his permission. Not that that was what he was doing now, but god, Tyler was _right there_ , and Jaime and Pam were just tucking themselves back into the booth, and Jack was not good at keeping his voice down, so _what the hell was he thinking?_

Jack cut his eyes to the American, narrowing them in suspicion as he took in his decidedly neutral face. He was just staring down at his food, looking mildly bored as he picked up another fry and popped into silently into his mouth, and if Jack wasn't absolutely sure of what his voice sounded like, he might have thought it was someone else who'd asked the question.

But nope. It was Mark. Sitting over there. Being an asshole. And Jack was so tempted to pretend he hadn't heard him, and just continue on with their pleasant meal with friends.

"I like the suit," he allowed in a toneless murmur after another few moments of silence, long enough to make Mark think he was going to ignore him. He could see the American's lip twitch up in a small smile as he reached for another fry, and that little secret smirk made Jack's stomach do funny things.

Ethan and Pam had launched into an animated conversation about space kittens, and Jack was pretty sure he was missing some kind of context for that conversation, so he mostly listened and smiled and snickered as the table broke into weird jokes and easy laughter. He could still see Mark in the corner of his eye, eating his food with only occasional additions to the discussion, and it didn't surprise him at all when he heard his deep voice rumble softly to him again.

"In the corner booth. The one in the striped sweater."

Jack's eyes darted to the man in question, barely pausing as he did a swift once-over before returning to his burger.

"Nah, not really." His eyes flicked back once, quick, to take in the man's companion, a young Asian with high cheekbones, and felt his lips pull up in a little smirk as he added, "Maybe the guy with him."

"Really?" There was amusement in his voice.

"Yeah."

"The waiter, then. The one getting ready to walk by."

Jack kept his eyes focused on his food until the last moment, only glancing up to see the man in question when he was sure no one was going to try to talk to him just then.

"Maybe without the beard."

"Don't like facial hair?"

"Not that much of it."

"Hmm," was all Mark could give him before Pam dragged him back into the conversation. They were slipping the whispered words in between the animated discussion around them, and Jack knew it was playing with fire, because there was no way it could go unnoticed for too long. Even still, Jack couldn't find it in him to be concerned. This was fun. It was like their own private game, like when you were a kid and you and your friend had a secret handshake. Just for them. And he didn't mind the selfish little giddy feeling growing in his gut as he waited for the American to be free once more. These people got to talk to Mark all the time. He could steal him a little.

Jack's eyes darted up, looking out across the restaurant as he tried to find who Mark might ask for next. He'd been picking a pretty wide variety, different ages and ethnicities, hair colors, builds, and Jack was finding this was giving him a bigger insight into his own preferences. Which was pretty much the point of all this, but it still surprised him when he recognized a trait he did find attractive. He'd been so fixated on Mark he hadn't even stopped to consider the idea of anyone else, or what it was exactly about Mark that made his heart race that way.

He was about to turn back to the chatter, try to focus on his friends for a minute and enjoy his time with all of them, because he really did love them all, despite his infatuation with the red-haired man beside him, when he caught sight of the raven-haired man.

He was just stepping in the front door, holding it open for a pretty young blonde in a designer jacket, smiling at her like she was the only thing in the world, and Jack felt his chest tighten sharply at the sight, mouth coming open in a little gasp as he took him in. Olive skin and jet black hair, square glasses over a broad face, strong jaw, light stubble. He was built well, thick, and you could see the cords in his big hands as he held the door, and yeah, just describing him it was easy to see who he looked like, but Jack wasn't describing him in his head. He was just taking him in, the easy smile and soft eyes, and Jack didn't even stop to consider as he felt his elbow pop out to nudge Mark, swallowing as he nodded towards the newcomer.

"Him."

He watched as Mark's eyes darted in the direction he indicated, not even bothering to make sure no one was paying attention, and noted the way his eyes narrowed lightly as he looked him over.

"Him?" And his voice sounded strained. "Really?"

"Yeah. I dunno-"

"What are you two doing?"

Jack's head snapped up to find Pam's bright eyes narrowed as she looked between them, following their gaze to the couple, and his breath caught in his throat, because he realized he had no cover story for why they were over here ogling people.

"Uh . . ."

"We're trying to find the prettiest people in the room."

Jack's head snapped around to gape at Mark, eyes wide and mouth open in betrayal.

"Dude!"

"What?" And he looked so unconcerned, like it was completely natural, like he hadn't just told the _whole table_ that they'd been playing Gay Who's Hotter, and Jack wanted to slap him, or maybe just curl up in his seat and disappear, he couldn't really decide. "Nothing wrong with that."

_Yes there is, you jackass._

Jaime was craning her neck, eyes following the couple as they were led to their new table, as Pam narrowed her eyes at Mark, her lips pressed in a firm line that didn't quite make it to serious, but was maybe a little under pleasantly amused.

"What?" Mark asked, his eyes wide and innocent as he looked around the table. "We're two young single guys, we're not allowed to appreciate?"

"What, her?" Jaime asked, and she let out a little laugh, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the table and away from the pretty little blonde hanging on the raven-haired man's arm. "All the people in the room, and you're gonna pick her?"

"We were just picking candidates," Mark complained, shrugging and hiding a little grin as he brought his sandwich up to take a bite. "Not saying she's the best."

Oh. That was . . . okay.

"God, _please_ tell me you picked Pam first," Jaime said, her tone biting but joking, and she was grinning at the two of them as she reached for a handful of fries. "Actually, I don't know why you're still looking if she's in the running."

"She's not," Mark said quickly, his mouth splitting into a grin as he swallowed and set his food back down. "We're not including anyone at the table, come on. That just wouldn't be fair."

_No, it wouldn't,_ Jack thought as he glanced at the man next to him, his mouth twisting up into a smile as his racing heart started to slow, and his hands unclenched from the fists they had made. _There's just too many-_

"Too many beautiful people here," and Jack choked, because Mark had basically just finished his thought, and that was so weird and funny that he found himself devolving quickly into giggles, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop them from being too loud and watching as the faces around the table followed his lead, smiling, laughing, embarrassed, amused.

And there was Mark, looking over at him with this secret little smile, just for him, and Jack could feel warmth blossoming in his chest, spreading out to his fingertips, as he dropped the hand from his mouth and smiled back at him.

Right then, it was so easy to believe Mark might be interested, might be _actually_ flirting with him, might actually want _him_ , and Jack had to bite his cheek to stop the question that jumped to his lips, unbidden but so tantalizing, because all he wanted to do right then was kiss him.

_Not now,_ he chastised himself, and he felt the way his mouth curved up in a twisted grin, giddy and nervous and happy. Not now, he couldn't ask here. But soon. Soon, sometime when Jack could pull him away from the others, have him all to himself for just a bit and just . . . figure this out. Because the idea of wasting any more time with him was suddenly far worse than any sting of rejection.

He was done wasting time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, Poem's gonna stop being a tease soon?? THE HORROR .___.


	18. Patience*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patience is a virtue, and y'all earned this with yours.

"Mark?"

"Hmm."

"Are you . . . interested in guys?"

Jack felt like his heart was going to break right out of his chest as the words finally slipped past his lips. They'd been hanging there all night, on the forefront of his mind, ready to be said, to be asked, _finally_ , so he could just _know_. He'd felt like he'd been stuck in this weird limbo since Mark had found out, happy but unsure, because he couldn't tell _for sure_. It was like . . . Schrodinger's Gayness. God, what the fuck was wrong with his head?

They were sitting on the couch. Just them. Tyler and Ethan had gone to bed early, like some kind of sign from the gods, giving Jack that little bit of alone time with Mark he'd needed. They were just watching TV, mindless, tired from the long day, and the Irishman had recognized the opportunity for what it was the moment the others bid them goodnight.

It had taken him over an hour to work up to it. He agonized over it, the right way to ask it, what words to use, what tone, whether to look at him or not. And then it was just . . . wait for the next commercial break. Let him finish talking. Let him finish petting Chica. Let the silence sit a little longer. Get another sip of water. Oh, commercial break is over. Wait for the next one.

And then he'd just . . . said it. He'd just said it, and Mark was quiet just staring at the TV, and he hadn't looked at him, and he wasn't even sure if he'd heard him, and oh god, he couldn't say it again, why had he opened his mouth in the first place-

"I mean . . ."

Jack's heart jumped into his throat again, and his eyes shot down into his lap, his legs crossed on the cushion under him, fiddling with the hem of his jeans. He couldn't read his voice, couldn't force himself to watch his face to read his expression, couldn't tell what was going through his head. Had he made it weird? Had he fucked it up? Was the cat dead in the box? Or was he going to open it to find it purring?

"It depends?"

Tension rushed out of Jack like floodgates had been opened, only to be replaced with a different kind, nervous excitement, and he picked at his jeans harder, trying to fight his heart back into his chest.

"I like . . . people. And the people I like are usually women? I mean, almost always. If someone asked, I'd say I was straight. But . . ." 

"Yeah." Jack heard himself utter the agreement before he was even aware of his intentions. "I think I . . . get that."

"Yeah, it's like . . . I don't know. I'm not going to, like, turn something good away just because it's got a dick."

Jack couldn't help the choked little laugh that slipped past his lips, but he stifled it quickly. He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack, expect, instead of panic it was . . . excitement? Or maybe part of it was panic. He couldn't really tell. Blood was rushing in his ears, and his breath was coming faster than it probably should, but at the same time he felt like he was underwater, and everything was hard to hear, and his tongue felt numb in his mouth.

Was Mark . . . could he be grouping Jack in with that? Was he "something good"? Or was that stupid wishful thinking? Was he just projecting right now? He couldn't tell, it was so hard to think straight, and he was so scared he was going to make an idiot of himself, make some kind of declaration only to find Mark had _no_ interest in him, and he couldn't handle that. Not right now.

Jack swallowed thickly, and willed his voice to be strong, to not crack, as he forced out the next question, determined now that he'd started, even past the fear.

"Have you ever . . . ?"

Mark did turn to look at him then, and Jack, who'd only just found the courage to look up again, found himself stuck in his gaze for a long moment, both of them looking a little surprised at the contact, before Jack was back to staring at his frayed jeans once more.

"What, fucked a guy?"

"Jesus, Mark."

"What, that's what you're asking right?"

Jack couldn't answer, his breath hissing out of him in a low rush, and he could only nod, shutting his eyes against the blush that had started up his face. He forgot how . . . forward Mark could get. He wasn't sure why he hadn't been expected it. The man was nothing if not crude.

There was silence for a few long moments, the Irishman unwilling, or incapable, of looking up as he waited.

"I've . . . tried some things, yeah."

Jack couldn't stop the little breath he sucked in at that. The imagery was inevitable, flooding in in quick flashes, accompanied by a myriad of questions. When? Who with? What had he tried? Had he been the . . . guy or the girl? Pictures of Mark on his knees, Mark leaning over him, Mark laid back on a bed, Mark-

"Yeah?" Jack asked, licking his lips nervously and cutting off the train of thought his mind had been off on. He could feel himself shifting, pulling his knees up against his chest, shielding himself as he asked, "Like . . . l-like what?"

"Why're you so nervous?"

Jack froze, mouth open, eyes fixed on the coffee table next to him, arms wrapped around the top of his knees, and he had the sudden urge to hide behind them, like a child. This was stupid. This was so very stupid. He shouldn't be nervous. But he also should, because he was _so stupid_.

"I- . . ."

"Jack?"

Jack glanced up at that, unable to resist the pull of his voice, suddenly sounding so earnest and sincere. And the eyes that met him matched the tone, brows pulled up a little in concern, but open and warm and soft, and he was leaning forward, his hand pressed against the back of the couch as he pulled himself just a little closer.

"Jack, I told you. You don't . . . you don't have to worry. I'm not gonna judge you or anything. You can ask me whatever you want."

He was grinning. Open. Inviting. Easy. It was so easy with Mark.

And suddenly 'like what?' wasn't what he wanted to ask anymore.

"Because I'll tell y-"

"Did yeh mean it?"

Mark blinked for a moment, obviously caught off guard, and Jack swallowed as he looked at him over his crossed wrists, sunk down low enough that he could duck behind his arms to hide if he needed to, but not quite wanting to. Not yet. He needed to see Mark's face when he answered. Needed to see he was being serious. That he wasn't just dicking with him.

"Mean what?"

"What yeh said. Were yeh jus' makin' fun, or were yeh serious about . . . um . . ."

"Experimenting?" Mark's voice was soft when he asked, his grin faltering as he looked at him with those bright eyes. And Jack wanted to hide, because he shouldn't be that surprised if he had been serious, so he'd probably been joking, but he couldn't, he couldn't, he just needed to watch and know.

"Yeah," Jack all but whispered back.

And Mark, the beautiful creature that he was, only hesitated a moment.

"Yeah, I meant it. Of course, I meant it." He was scooting closer, not quite in his personal space, just closer, more intimate, and he was leaning forward, looking at Jack over his crossed wrists with a little crooked smile that had Jack's gut doing all kinds of funny things. "I mean, if you're trying to figure stuff out, I'm happy to help. I'm not, like, an expert or anything, but, If you want . . . I mean, I figure it's better than a stranger . . ."

Jack was having trouble picking out the specifics of his words over the overhanging revelation. Mark was interested. _Mark was interested_. In _him_. Okay, yeah, maybe this wasn't a declaration of love or anything, but he wasn't looking for that, he was open to it, he was receptive, this could actually happen-

Holy shit, this could actually happen.

He wasn't even completely sure. He hadn't decided if he was really gay, he hadn't decided if he liked Mark like that, he hadn't decided how he felt about all this shit. He'd thought about it plenty, but there were no hard decisions, and was he really ready to jump into this with that little certainty?

Look what had happened the last time. David had been receptive. David had been interested. And Jack hadn't been sure. And when it had come down to it, Jack just hadn't been in it, and everything had crumbled around that. What if this was the same thing? What if all of this had just been some stupid confusion, and he was just going to fuck everything up again with his stupid weirdness. He did _not_ want to do that with Mark, _please_.

But . . . well, this wasn't a relationship. They weren't . . . together, or anything. That wasn't what Mark was offering right now. He was offering experimentation. No expectations, just . . . just a chance to try it out. To figure this out. Which was exactly what Jack needed, right? Theoretical could only take him so far. He needed to put some of his theories into practice so to speak. And Mark was certainly better than a stranger . . . 

"So if," Jack started, then stopped to lick his lips, unable to pull his eyes away from Mark's. "If I asked . . . teh kiss yeh . . . would that be okay?"

"What, like properly this time?"

"Yeah, I just . . . wanna try it." 

Mark nodded, slow, never breaking eye contact as he leaned in a little closer, and Jack could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Right now?"

And Jack could only nod back, words failing him as he got lost in those damn earthy eyes again, so fixed on him, _only_ on him, and he might have fallen right in if they hadn't crinkled up in a cheeky smile.

"Okay, so you wanna stop hiding behind your knees so I can actually reach you?"

The little smile crept unbidden up his face, and he fought it as best he could, narrowing his eyes at him as the American shifted closer, turned half towards him on the couch now, one knee up and his arm rest on the cushion behind the green-haired man.

"No," he shot back with what could only be described as a nervous giggle. But he was moving his hands anyway, turning them to push into the cushions beneath him, driving himself up onto his knees, sitting back on his ankles, and quickly crossing his arms back over his chest as a last form of protection. He was actually going to do this. He was going to kiss Mark. For realsies this time.

"Okay, just," Mark started, and Jack could see the nervousness again, that uncomfortable joking glint in his eyes, just like on the livestream, when Jack had had to be the one to start everything, and he felt a strange swoop in his gut at the idea of making Mark, of all people, jittery like this. "Uh . . . just be sure to, ah, you know, tell me . . . if I do anything wrong."

"Okay," Jack said softly, and felt his arms fall away from his chest, one set of fingers coming to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, the others digging into the cushion behind him, just under Mark's hand.

"'Cause I'm . . . I'm just trying to help here, I don't wanna, like . . . scar you or anything."

Jack felt his eyes roll more than he told them to, and he could feel the corners of his mouth turning up in a little grin. "What, are yeh that bad of a kisser?"

Mark had the decency to look offended, his head coming back with a little sound of indignation. "I'll have you know I'm a great kisser. The best kisser. No one kisses like _I_ -"

"Shut up, Mark."

Jack watched the way the grin split up the American's face, a little unsure, a little nervous, but there, and he felt that swooping in his gut again, before he leaned forward and closed the distance between them.

It was awkward again. But a different kind of awkward. Not a bad kind of awkward, just . . . unsure. Two people trying to figure out what was okay, what they were doing, getting a lay of the land. Mark's lips were soft against his, surprisingly so, molding easily under his as Jack pressed carefully forward, and he could feel the light hair on his chin scratching at his skin. They were both moving slowly, not quite opening their mouths, more just flowing against each other in little motions, and Jack felt like his heart was going to strangle him again with how hard it was to stop himself from deepening it.

Slow. Start off slow. Don't get carried away, not yet. Don't scare Mark. Don't look stupid. Just enjoy it. And he was. He _was_. It was so small, almost chaste, but it was good, and he could feel a warmth blossoming in his gut, spreading through his body, warming him from his fingers to his toes. He couldn't stop the little noise he made, his hand coming out to wrap around the back of Mark's neck, more steadying himself them trying to pull him closer.

Mark pulled back, and Jack tried to stop himself from chasing him, he really did. But there was no way the American missed the way his lips followed his for a moment, before he pulled back and opened his eyes.

"Okay?" Mark asked in a rough voice, and that had a different kind of warmth shooting through Jack, all electricity and excitement, and he fought back the little noise he tried to make.

"It's not ticklish," he muttered, voice sounding almost disappointed. He hadn't even realized he was going to say the words - they just slipped out, and he couldn't help but laugh a little, breathless, at the stupidity of the statement.

"What?"

"Yer beard. It's not ticklish. It's like-"

"Scratchy, yeah. And I don't know if I'd call it a beard. Not compared to yours."

"Is it bad?" Jack couldn't help running a hand over his face, feeling the way the wiry hair scratched at his hand. But Mark was shaking his head, grinning.

"No, ya goober, it's fine."

Jack grinned back at him, feeling the nervous stuttering in his heart, the way his fingers pressed anxiously in the light hair on the back of Mark's neck, watching the way Mark's eyes fell back to his mouth. He'd meant to ask if he could keep going, check in with Mark the way he was checking in on him, but he certainly didn't look opposed to it, the way he was leaning in just a little, the space between their lips minuscule now, his eyes hooded and dark, and Jack figured fuck it, he could tell him if he wanted him to stop.

He closed the distance between them again, and this time, it wasn't quite so soft. Mark's lips opened easily to him at the slightest pressure, and he caught the little breath he let out, so small, but eager, excited, and Jack suddenly felt like king of the goddamn world, because he was kissing Mark Fischbach, and Mark Fischbach _liked it_.

Jack leaned forward, the fingers at Mark's neck trailing up to card through his thick hair, his other hand reaching out to squeeze against his shoulder, thumb pressed against the skin at the juncture of his throat, and Mark just turned his head to give him better access, a small noise rumbling deep in his chest, shooting another thrill through the Irishman. He felt the light pressure of fingers against his thigh, delicate, unsure, and he pressed closer, pushing his leg into the hand.

"You can touch me," Jack rasped against Mark's lips, and the American groaned, the sound muffled in the kiss, but Jack couldn't help but return it as he felt fingers pressing more firmly against his hip, trailing under the hem of his shirt.

Fuck, okay, this was faster than he'd meant to go. But god, it felt _so good_ , and he hadn't expected it to. He was so nervous, so unsure of his feelings and his wants, so worked up with all the anxiety of the last few weeks. He'd figured it'd be awkward, would _stay_ awkward. But damn if Mark didn't just blow it all away, with his stupid crooked smile and his soft lips and warm finger pressing into his skin.

He wanted to be closer. This was too far, uncomfortable, Mark twisted in a weird way to reach him as he leaned over him on his knees, and Jack didn't even consider the implications as he pushed forward, throwing a leg over Mark to straddle him on the couch. The sound Mark made, surprise, pleasure, the little breathless chuckle and smile against his lips as he kissed him back, washed away any discomfort he might have felt as he took up his new position over him.

"You're, mmm, greedy, aren't ya?" Mark asked in between kisses, and Jack laughed nervously, a little pool of unease forming in his gut as he resisted the urge to pull away in embarrassment. Mark was smiling against his lips, and he didn't think he was being mean. Just teasing.

"Maybe," he murmured back, his hands coming down to rest on his shoulders, fingers finding their way under the collar of his shirt to feel his hot skin. "Is it . . . this . . . okay?"

"Yeah," Mark said quickly, nodding his head fervently as he pushed back against his kiss. "Yeah, you can . . . just . . . feel free to explore."

Jack slowed, his heart racing, as he took in the implications of his words. Explore . . . what? The kiss? His sexuality? Mark's body? Fucking hell, this was suddenly the worst kind of wet dream, because it was very real, but he didn't really know any of the rules, or where it was going. Mark let the kiss slow, but didn't pull away, and Jack opened his eyes to examine his face, eye shuttered, brows drawn in a look of concentration, and Jack realized he could see little discolorations in his cheeks this close, like very faint, sparse freckles. He'd never noticed that before.

The hand at Jack's hip pressed higher, and the moment of unsureness passed in the blink of an eye as he felt warm fingers pressing into his waist, pulling him closer. Mark's other hand was working its way up his back, under his shirt, pressing lines into his skin, and Jack gasped hotly against his lips, letting his own hands fall to Mark's lap, picking at the hem of his shirt, unsure for only a moment before the hand at his waist reached out to grab his wrist in a light pressure, and press it up under Mark's shirt, before it returned to its previous position.

Oh wow. Okay. Mark's stomach was taut and warm against his hand, and he couldn't help but spread his fingers across it, pushing roughly to feel the friction between them and earning another low sound from deep in the American's chest. He pressed higher, getting braver as he felt Mark arching up to press into his touch, and he ghosted across his chest, knowing he was pulling his shirt up with the angle of his arm, knowing the air of the room must feel cool across his tummy now, and he could feel the way it jumped under his touch. Mark's lips were getting greedier at his mouth, and Jack could feel himself grin against them, a strange feeling of triumph in his chest.

When he felt Mark's tongue press against his lips, he didn't hesitate to let it in, meeting it with his own, and okay, Mark had said he was straight, but this was _really_ gay, and Jack was a-okay with that just then. Fuck labels. Fuck uncertainty. Fuck the past. This felt great, and he could honestly just sit here like this for hours right now, until his lips were numb and he was out of breath and he'd finished exploring every inch of Mark's mouth, because that's all he wanted right then.

The feeling of Mark's thumb brushing against his nipple made him jerk, hard, a little whine escaping the back of his throat, and his free hand came back up to twist in Mark's hair, rougher than was absolutely necessary, but the American didn't seem to mind. He was groaning, making these little deep noises of pleasure in the base of his throat that had Jack flushing with delight, and suddenly this didn't seem too fast at all. Suddenly, this didn't seem fast enough. He wanted more, to feel more, hear more, see the way Mark's face twisted up in pleasure, and he moaned into his lips at the thought, his heart racing, his dick throbbing, and he wanted to look down to see if Mark was as hard as he was just then.

"Okay," Mark said suddenly, and he was pulling back, breathless, eyes opening to show blown pupils, lips a red mess, and Jack was pretty sure he'd never seen anything prettier. "Okay, wait, we should . . . probably, ah . . . slow down."

"What?" Jack was having trouble processing his words as his eyes traced his face, his shaking lips, his pretty skin with a hint of pink. One hand was still pressed flat against his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat under his skin, the other twining through his hair, exploring it more than pulling now.

"I'm, um," Mark started, and Jack could hear the way his voice shook, just a little unsteady, and he watched him pause to swallow before he continued. "I haven't, you know, um . . . I haven't, in a while, so I'm . . . uh . . . a little . . . worked up."

It took a moment for his breathless words to sink in, and Jack couldn't stop his eyes from darting down between them as he realized what he was implying.

Yep. Mark was hard. Pretty clearly through his jeans. Not that Jack was doing any better. And suddenly he was licking his lips, his heart picking up a staccato rhythm as his mind fed him wicked things.

"Did yeh," he started, and his voice sounded raw and wrecked, and he stopped to lick his lips again before he continued, eyes flickering back to Mark's face. "Did yeh want help with that?"

Mark looked like he'd been punched in the gut. He could feel his stomach tighten sharply under him, his hips stuttering a little and a small breathy gasp escaped his lips as his eyes widened.

"You-" Mark started, but he seemed to have trouble getting the words out, swallowing hard before his head fell back against the back of the couch, eyes shut and brows pulled together. "Holy shit, man, you just . . . seriously fueled my fantasies for like the next six months."

Jack couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face at that, part pride and part nervousness, because it was only just hitting him what he'd offered, and yep, this was fast, maybe too fast, maybe he needed to slow it down again, because he was definitely starting to think more with his dick than his head, and he'd forgotten for a moment there that he had no fucking clue what he was doing.

"Sorry," Jack said with a nervous chuckle, the hand in his hair disentangling itself to fall softly on his shoulder, picking uncertainly at the American's shirt once more.

" _Soory_ ," Mark mocked in a terrible Irish accent, his eyes still closed as he grinned a big goofy grin up at the ceiling. "Soory oi gave yeh that there wank material, 'm jus' a li'l ole oirish tease."

Jack smacked him across the chest, the side that didn't still have his hand pressed under his shirt, and grinned back at him as the American squinted his eyes open at him.

"I wasn't tryin' teh be a tease," Jack shot back, letting the hand under his shirt start to slip out, not quite leaving his skin, just letting it lay limp against him. "I was actually offering, if yeh'd pay attention."

"Yeah, but," and Mark had his eyes open again, lifting his head to look at him properly, and Jack was struck with just how normal this looked. His hair was disheveled, his lips were swollen and red, his cheeks were tinged pink, and none of it looked weird. Mark was just _supposed_ to look like that. Or maybe he'd imagined it so much in his head that it was just familiar by this point. "This is . . . I mean, what have you actually done with a guy before?"

Jack bit his lip and looked away, a flush creeping across his face at the question. No worse than his offer to blow him a second ago, but for some reason, it felt much more uncomfortable. "Um . . . not much."

"Have you ever, like . . . I mean, have you done more than kissing?"

Jack shook his head, eyes fixed on the back of the couch instead of Mark's eyes, embarrassed for a reason he couldn't put a name to.

"Okay, so this is all new to you. And I mean, fuck, I'd love to take you up on that offer, believe me. But I also don't want you to rush this? Because you're . . . well, you're one of my best friends, and I care, and I just don't want you to do anything you'd regret, okay?"

Jack swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, not completely sure why he felt the urge to cry just then, and blinked away the threatening tears before he answered in a quiet voice.

"I don't think I'd regret it."

"Okay, then, look, you're still here for a few more days, right? So why don't we . . . ah . . . why don't we sleep on it tonight, and you make sure you feel the same way tomorrow. And then, if you wanna try something, we can try something. And then, if you do change your mind, no harm, right?"

Jack didn't answer, just swallowed again, finding it harder and harder to fight the urge to cry. Why did this sting? Why did this feel like rejection? Because Jack could barely keep his hands to himself, and here was Mark, being all logical and laying out a plan like he was deciding on what to make for lunch tomorrow.

"Jack?" But Jack wouldn't look at him, his hand slipping out from under his shirt, falling to his own lap to fiddle with his hem, eyes turned away and lips pressed together.

Mark pulled his hands out from where they'd been resting comfortably on his waist, and he pressed his palms firmly against Jack's cheeks, trapping him and forcing him back into a firm kiss. The Irishman gasped into his lips, surprised by the contact, and he couldn't help melting into his grip as he kissed back, slow and firm for a few long moments before Mark pulled away again.

"Jack, I'm just . . . I don't wanna fuck this up, okay?" He murmured the words right against his lips, and Jack shuddered at the contact. It felt . . . intimate. Way more intimate than the kissing had been, and he kept his eyes closed, scared of what he might see if he opened them. They stayed just like that for a few long moments, breath mingling between them, before Jack nodded, slow and careful.

"Okay," he muttered, before pressing forward out of Mark's grip to rest his head on his shoulder, bringing their bodies flush together, and rocking up firmly against him.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Mark groaned in a broken voice, and Jack grinned against his shoulder, just needing the confirmation of that sound, proof that he was as wrecked as he was right now. Mark's hips stuttered back against his once, a short, uneven thrust, before his hands came down to Jack's hips, holding him still and hissing harshly in his ear. "Can you fucking behave?"

"No," the Irishman said with a grin, opening his mouth to give him a quick nip in the meat of his shoulder before rocking back, draping his arms over the back of the red-haired man's neck. "Can you?"

"You get off me and I can try," Mark bit out, and Jack laughed, but did as he asked, reluctantly. His legs felt shaky, and he used the American to steady himself as he slowly disentangled them from each other.

"You good?" Mark asked as he shifted, pulling at his jeans to readjust himself, and Jack had to fight the urge to watch, glancing back at whatever garbage was playing on the TV instead.

"Yeah, 'm good." He dusted at his pants, not actually needing to, just wanting to do something with his hands as he shuffled awkwardly between the couch and the coffee table, unwilling to sit back down. "I think I'm'a . . . uh . . ."

"Go take care of that?" Mark asked, and Jack choked on a strangled sort of laugh, whipping around to look at the American with an expression of amusement and disbelief. "What? It's what I'm gonna go do."

Jack felt the blush rush harshly across his face, and his eyes fell to Mark's chest instead of his eyes. "Oh. Well. Good luck with that."

Mark laughed an easy kind of laugh, and Jack could feel himself grinning at the sound, the tension starting to seep out of his body. "Don't need luck. You gave me plenty of material, you know."

"God," Jack snorted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the tone Mark used, knowing he was trying to rile him now. "Well, yeh be sure teh have fun, then."

"Oh, I will," Mark promised, and Jack felt his gut coil deliciously at the growl in his voice.

"G'night Mark."

"Night, Jackaboy."

And they both headed off to their rooms, Jack's heart racing, images from the last few minutes spurring him to move faster to the privacy of his own room to take care of his own pressing problems.

Fucking Mark Fischbach was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk/pseuds/tfwfangirlsatk) (srsly, thank you so much for your lightning fast work and support ;___;)


	19. Playing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a wonderful little break, and I really appreciate all the support I got during. You all were so sweet, and I feel so much better now that I've got things back on track again. So thank you, you lovely people. I shall reward you with more of this mess :]
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [tfwfangirlsatk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk) <3

Jack lay flat on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling and watching the way the morning light reflected off the crystal lamp next to his bed. It was casting a rainbow up across the ceiling fan, all funny colors and fuzzy light, and he wondered idly why it wasn't more common to use rainbows like that in decoration. It wouldn't be hard to rig up some kind of light source that would always refract through a crystal and just throw rainbows in a room. He'd buy it, if it existed. He'd buy it in a heartbeat. The little sliver of light was just so damn pretty.

Or maybe everything was just looking particularly pretty to him this morning.

He'd kissed Mark.

He'd kissed Mark last night, and Mark had kissed him back. And there was a promise of more kisses, and other things, and how could he find anything ugly with that fact hanging over his head?

He'd been so scared it was going to go bad. So scared that Mark was going to reject him, be disgusted or uncomfortable, and he was just going to ruin the relationship by asking. But that hadn't happened. And he'd been scared that, even if Mark was . . . receptive, that Jack wasn't actually going to be able to get into it. That he'd start all this mess up only to have to back out, make everything doubly awkward as he realized _he_ wasn't interested. But that hadn't happened either.

Nothing he'd been worried about had happened. It had gone fine. Better than fine. It was great. He'd been flying higher than a goddamn kite last night, despite how scared, how anxious, he'd been because kissing Mark had been _exactly_ what he wanted, exactly what he'd hoped it would be. And it wasn't one-sided. It wasn't just him that felt that way.

Right? It wasn't like Mark could fake the boner. He'd obviously been interested. Or, his body had at least. And Jack had learned himself that your body was often more honest than your mind. So Mark had been interested like _that_ , at least. And he'd made it pretty clear that he was open to other things. _Other things_. Oh god, _Mark was interested in other things_.

Jack felt the giddy grin split his face, a bubbly laugh fighting its way out of his chest as he reached to tug one of his pillows into his arms. He felt like he was back in high school, talking to some of the girls about their crushes, only now he was the one crushing, and he'd kissed his crush, and now he just wanted to roll around his bed and scream into his pillow.

Except . . . well, alright, that was pretty stupid. He was a grown man. He didn't need to spend his morning squealing in bed. Even still, he took the time to bury his aching cheeks in his pillow once before throwing the covers back and hopping out of bed.

It was pretty early, but he could hear people moving around downstairs, and it spurred him to get ready in a bit of a rush. Mark might be up already. He might be missing time with him. And he didn't have that much time to be wasting in the first place. He was out of the shower in record time, swiping a towel roughly through his hair, but not bothering to try to tame it as he rushed to yank on some jeans and one of his less wrinkled shirts from his bag. And then he was throwing his door open, taking the steps two at a time, bare feet rushing across carpet as he made his way towards the sound of laughter.

The idea that Mark might regret last night didn't occur to him until he'd reached the den, the voices in the kitchen clear now, Mark's timbre reverberating through him like an earthquake, and he came to a skidding halt a few steps from the big doorway.

Sure, this had been what Jack wanted. He'd wanted it for a while, and it had turned out great for him. He'd just confirmed that he really did want him. And Mark had been . . . damn good at what he did. The memory of his hungry mouth at his lips sent a shiver through him even now, and the image of his shuttered eyes, brows furrowed, little secret freckles across the tan skin of his face . . . it did nothing but good things to him.

But what about Mark? Maybe his excitement had just been a . . . in-the-moment kind of thing. Maybe he'd just been worked up. He'd told him it had been a while, hadn't he? Maybe it was just him being touch-starved, and anybody would do. Anybody . . .

Or, maybe even worse, he regretted doing that with _Jack_ specifically. Maybe he regretted starting up that kind of relationship, even as light and open as it had been, with him. Maybe he didn't want that with Jack, didn't want to have that kind of dialogue between them, was embarrassed or uncomfortable to be doing those kinds of things with a guy, with his friend, with Jack. He might just want to forget.

And suddenly Jack had no idea what kind of face he was supposed to make when he entered that kitchen. What was he supposed to do? Should he still rush in, all smiles and laughter and his usual teasing? Should he look at Mark or should he avoid his eye? Should he just . . . pretend last night didn't happen? At least until he knew how Mark felt?

He didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He'd give up every bit of last night if it meant Mark would be happy. He'd turn it all back in a second, no matter how much he'd loved it. And if Mark was uncomfortable, or unsure, or if he didn't want this, Jack just wanted to fix it for him. Chase away the awkwardness and the discomfort, and just make things chill between them again. He could handle a rejected crush. He couldn't handle Mark being unhappy.

He almost went back up the stairs again, because he wanted just a little longer to think about this, to consider the best option, and just get his head on straight before he had to face him, because he was still reeling from his own sudden mood swing. But then Mark's voice was echoing through the room, and he was helpless to resist it.

"Where's Jack?" His name on his lips made the Irishman's gut do funny things. "Is he really not up yet?"

"It's 8AM, Mark. It's pretty early."

"Yeah, but I don't want it to get cold. Hold on, here, finish this, I'm gonna go wake him."

"What? No, just give him a second, you-"

"I'm up!" Jack called, his voice scratchier than he'd expected as he forced his legs to take him around the corner.

"Jack!" Mark was standing at the island, a spatula in one hand, a set of plates laid out in front of him, and he was grinning broad enough to blind him. "I made pancakes!"

He looked . . . so. Goddamn. _Excited_. Like this was the most exciting moment of his life, and Jack felt the sudden fear rush out of him as fast as it had come. Mark didn't avoid his eye. He was looking him straight on, all giddy grins and bright eyes and he looked like a little kid all worked up to show his parents his report card or something.

God, he was beautiful.

And he'd kissed him last night.

And then Jack was right back to riding cloud 9 with him.

Ethan was already sitting at the table in the dining room, where four places had been set, playing some game on his phone and giving Jack a bright "Good morning!" as he caught sight of him. Tyler was standing with Mark, leaning against the counter as he held out one of the plates for the American to slap a stack of pancakes onto, and he gave him a sleepy wave, Jack returning the gesture with a little grin.

"Anything I can do?" Jack asked, stepping around to take in the sight of the messy kitchen. There was bacon too, it looked like, and the whole room smelled like meat and coffee and syrup, and Jack's stomach was already growling with pleasure, awakened in the best way possible.

"Wanna grab glasses for everyone?" Mark asked, glancing over his shoulder at him as he worked to plate the mountain of food. "And uh . . . maybe grab the butter and put that out too?"

"Sure." Jack was already moving to obey the request, reaching up to the cabinet near him to pull out four glasses and heading over to set them on the table.

"Ethan, can you grab the orange juice and the water jug? Unless someone wants something else to drink."

"Is there coffee?" Jack asked over his shoulder as he set the last glass on the placemat nearest him and turned towards the fridge for the butter.

"Oh, yeah, of course, there's a fresh pot ready."

"I'm'a just have that."

"'kay!"

There were a few minutes of uncomfortably fluttery motion as everyone darted around each other, fetching supplies and getting things ready for a proper breakfast. It was a familiar scene to Jack, at least in this kitchen. Mark always liked to do a big breakfast at least once while Jack was here, and it was always just a little hectic with four people trying to prepare everything.

Once it was ready, though, it was quite the scene. The dark wood table was set with bright placemats, big plates piled up with pancakes and bacon, and a platter of each still steaming on the island in the kitchen. Orange juice sparkled in three glasses, and coffee steamed from one of the big brown mugs, and four men tucked themselves into comfy black chairs to tear into the meal.

Jack found himself next to Ethan, with Mark across from him, and he grinned to them both in turn as he slathered butter across the fluffy cakes in front of him, reaching for the syrup as Ethan finished with it. Mark was tearing apart his bacon with his fingertips, and Tyler was launching into a story about something that had happened on one of his streams as he cut into his own pancakes, and the whole place smelled like breakfast and looked like morning and sounded like friendship.

This was nice. This was _really_ nice. This was the kind of thing, the kind of memory, that fueled him during his weeks and months of solitude, settled the occasional pangs of loneliness that would creep up in his quiet apartment, and his eyes kept flickering around to get different angles of the scene, drinking in every piece of it so he could remember it later.

But more than anything, he couldn't stop sneaking peeks at Mark's bright face. He was smiling, grinning, bright eyes on his food and flashing up to watch Tyler as he told his story, and he looked like sunshine, bright and warm and so pretty. Jack knew he was hopeless, knew this was beyond the stupid kind of crushing, and there was a whole forest of butterflies enjoying a fair in his gut, but he didn't care. Especially when Mark's eyes would flash to him, quick, bright, warm, and there was that quiet secret between them that was just for _them_.

The feeling of Mark's foot pressing against his own made him jump, and he took a long sip of his coffee to cover the little sound of surprise he'd made. Mark was watching Tyler, looking enthralled in the story, nodding along and smiling, even as his pressed his slippered toes against the underside of Jack's calf, and Jack had to stifle the little laugh that caught in his throat.

Footsie? Really? He was going to play footsie with him under this goddamn table?

Fucking hell, why was he so fucking cute.

Jack let the grin split his face, turning his full attention to Tyler, Mark's face just inside his peripheral, before he hooked his foot under the one assaulting him, and pressed back, earning himself the smallest huff from the American across from him. They were basically fighting now, both pushing against the other, Jack's bare toes wrapping around Mark's soft slipper and doing his best to pull it off. Which was harder than it looked. But also seemed to amuse the hell out of the red-haired man, so he was going to keep trying.

Tyler's story had turned into an animated conversation with Ethan, and the two were going back and forth over their plates, animated and excited, and Jack watched them with laugh crinkles around his eyes, snickering at their antics even as he pressed his leg against the warm man across from him.

_"This is nice,"_ he thought to himself as he popped another syrupy bite of pancake into his mouth and managed to pry the heel of Mark's slipper away from his foot. _"This is really nice."_

  


* * *

  


"Your hair's still wet."

Jack turned just in time to see Mark bring his hand up, fingers brushing a droplet of water from his cheek and sending a flush through his body. He was wrist deep in dishwater, scrubbing at a pan, and he could only let the blush creep across his cheeks as he bit back a smile and returned to his task, doing his best to ignore how close Mark had opted to stand.

"Yeah. Feelin' lazy today."

They were the only ones in the kitchen, Jack insisting on taking care of the dishes in return for the meal. Mark hardly let him handle any chores while he was here, and he was happy the American had caved on this task. He hated just sitting around while everyone else was doing work.

"You're gonna catch a cold."

Jack didn't honor that with a proper answer, only snorted and scrubbed at a spot on the big pan. He was having trouble looking the man straight on just then, painfully aware of his proximity, and how very alone they were just then. Tyler had gone back upstairs to take a shower, and Ethan was watching TV in the other room, and it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Which left no filter to block any of Jack's nerves. He was still happy. Things seemed pretty okay. But he was still anxious, and he couldn't stop the way he fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot and keeping his eyes fixed stubbornly on his work.

Mark was watching him, he could see out of the corner of his eye. He was leaning against the counter, one elbow rested lazily across the marble, and he was holding his own wrist, just watching as Jack worked his way through the mess from that morning. For a moment, Jack was worried he was just going to stay like that, silently observing him, and he wasn't sure if he could handle that, because the silence felt a little heavy, and he was starting to feel self-conscious - he hadn't taken a lot of time on his appearance when he was getting ready, and he might look a mess right now for all he knew. But after another few moments, Mark shoved away from his perch and turned to grab the leftovers still sitting on the island.

"You're hair's getting pretty long," the American offered conversationally as he set to work putting away the extra food. Jack took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Mark's shirt stretching over his back as he reached out for one of the plates, and his stomach did something funny as he turned back to his own work.

"Yeah, I've been thinkin' I need a cut."

"I don't mind it."

"Yeah, but it gets so messy."

"I like it messy."

Jack felt his lips pull back in a little smile and he huffed in good-natured annoyance at the almost pouting tone Mark's voice held.

"Well, _you_ don't have teh take care of it."

Mark had put the newly filled Tupperware in the fridge by now, and Jack was listening to him move around the kitchen, acutely aware of where he was at all times. But even still, he wasn't prepared as he felt the heat wash over his back, and the rough feel of Mark's arms brushing against his as he reached around him to add the new dishes to the pile. He didn't move, even after he'd released them from his hand. Jack felt his heart pick up in his chest, racing against his ribcage as his hands stilled at the task they'd been working on, and he waited.

"You okay?" Mark murmured, and he was basically speaking right into Jack's ear, sending shivers down his spine. The words were innocuous enough, but the Irishman knew, from his tone, that he wasn't just asking in general.

"Yeah," Jack breathed, soft and raspy. He could feel himself leaning back, closer to Mark and the heat that was pouring off him, and he'd barely need to move another inch to be pressed against his chest. "You?"

Instead of answering, Mark pressed forward, closing the minuscule distance between them and letting one hand fall to Jack's hip to pull him flush to him, tucking his chin over Jack's shoulder and nodding against him.

It didn't feel dirty. Just . . . intimate, and Jack's heart was trying to choke him again as he felt himself relaxing into the little embrace. Ethan could walk in at any time, and he was still elbow deep in dirty dishwater, and his hair was dripping onto Mark's face, but none of that really seemed to matter for the moment, because Mark was just sitting here, holding him, and very little in his life had felt quite so good as this.

"You gotta tell me if I do something wrong," Mark said, his head bouncing as his jaw dug into Jack's shoulder. "I like to play, and I dunno if you're cool with it."

Jack grinned, heart still doing it's best to lodge itself in his throat, and he struggled to swallow around it. He had no idea what "play" meant, but he couldn't imagine anything with that name - coming from Mark - being enough to bother him.

"We'll see," Jack teased, his voice twisting up in amusement as he pressed back against the warm man behind him. And then, with every ounce of self-control he had, he shoved away, reaching back for the dishes and grinning as he chided, "Now let me finish these dishes."

Mark snickered behind him, and big fingers came around to pinch at his side, earning him a little yelp from the green-haired man before he stepped away.

"Sure thing, Jackaboy."

  


* * *

  


As it turned out, "playing" wasn't too much different from what Mark usually did. It was a lot of touching, teasing and poking and prodding, and generally being a big kid in a man's body.

Only occasionally those touches weren't completely innocent.

Jack had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time he felt fingers on his ass, moving quick to give him a pinch before disappearing once more, and he'd had to laugh off Ethan's look of concern as he tried to explain away the high pitched yip that had slipped past his lips. And Mark, the asshole, was sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone as Jack continued shimmying past him, as if he hadn't noticed his presence at all.

Dick.

The second time he'd seen it coming. He was coming around the island in the kitchen, where Mark was sitting and finishing off a sandwich, headed for the fridge for a drink, and he'd seen the way Mark's eyes watched him subtly as he got closer, the way his hand shifted into his lap and he leaned just a little away from the counter. He could have dodged it if he really wanted to.

But he didn't really want to.

Wasn't like it hurt anyway.

It was only a few minutes after that that Jack got his first lick in. Mark was taking up his plate, yelling something back to Ethan in response to a question, and Jack didn't let himself think too hard on it as he whipped his hand out to give him a quick pinch. He was shaking, nervous, and he probably got a little higher than he'd meant to, but Mark's little yelp was enough to make up for the awkwardness. Jack caught his gaze as he glared over his shoulder, and there were crinkles around his eyes as he tried not to laugh, lips pursed in a thin line, pretending to be angry. But Jack knew he wasn't.

It was probably inevitable that they devolved the way they did. The touches got more regular, Jack getting braver as Mark kept pushing boundaries, and when the American decided to bring tickling into the mix, Jack was not about to just let it slide.

They were playing video games, Ethan and Jack and Mark, with Tyler plugging away at something on his laptop, and the room was filled with raucous laughter and shouted curses as they fought each other in Gang Beasts. Jack had never really mastered the tricks of the game, despite playing it on several occasions with Felix and Ken, and once with Mark, but his companions didn't seem to be any better off, and the game had quickly devolved into button mashing and yelling.

They weren't recording, though Jack had thought pretty early on that they should be. He had plenty of videos stockpiled for this trip, and Mark had kept up with his just fine, but he could always use another. And people loved seeing the pair together. They'd especially love it right now, while the internet was still freaking out about the livestream kiss.

If only they knew what had transpired after.

But instead it was just them playing as friends, relaxed and goofy, and that's probably what spurred Mark into his careless actions.

He knew Jack was ticklish. He'd taken advantage of that fact sparingly since he'd discovered it, but with all the touching they were doing, it was no wonder he decided to resort to it. Jack was winning, holding Mark's "Red Daddy" up in the air and dragging him towards the railroad tracks, ready to throw him down, and cackling in delight as Mark furiously smashed at his controller, his voice huffing out in increasingly loud protests.

"Aha, I got yeh now, buddy," Jacked crowed with delight, holding the little red creature over the side of the ledge, attempting to shake him down into the death pit where the train would come hurtling through. He was already turning his attention to Ethan's little blue character as it pulled itself out of the other pit, waddling towards him with its little arms flailing. He'd just drop Mark and then lure Ethan over to the ledge, and he'd probably just fall in on his own, because he was that kind of clumsy. He could already taste his victory.

"Ah! No, you little shit, no, NO-"

"Oohoho, just give in Markimoo."

"You-, no, c'mere!"

"Gah, hey, no! You let go! Let go o' me, yeh hairy-"

"Damnit, no, Jack, you little-"

Mark cut himself off, howling in frustrating, the sound like music to Jack's ears, before he turned and twisted one hand into the Irishman's side and squeezed.

The sound Jack made was embarrassing to say the least - high, almost a squeal, and he nearly threw his controller in surprise as he slammed his elbow down over Mark's hand, trying to shove the tickling fingers away from his sensitive skin.

"Noooooo, Mark- STOP, tha's not fair, sto- ah, stop!"

But Mark just dug in further, his controller abandoned on the couch next to him as he propped up onto one knee to get better leverage, reaching for his other side, cackling and grinning like a madman. Jack fell back away from him, crammed into the corner of the couch as he fought to get away, giggling and cursing and kicking with weak feet as he tried to shuck the American's hands, but without much success.

"Ethan, help!" Jack screamed, just able to see the familiar mop of blue hair past Mark's face. "Help me, blue boy!"

"No!" came Ethan's cackled reply. "I'm winning!"

Jack's hands were pulling at Mark's arms, tugging his shirt, squeezing at his sides, trying to find something to throw him off. But he didn't seem to be quite as ticklish as Jack, and things were starting to look dire, and Jack acted on pure instinct as he reached out to pinch at one of the man's nipples.

The effect was immediate and exactly what he'd hoped for. Or maybe a little more so. Mark's arms jerked back hard, releasing Jack to try to protect himself, a high pitched sound squeaking past his lips. But the reddening cheeks, wide eyes, shaky breath, told him he'd hit on something a little different than tickling.

How could he not do it again?

He was quicker than Mark seemed to be expected, slipping his hand easily around Mark's protective arm and grabbing at the other nipple, giving it a light twist with his best shit-eating grin, and Mark looked like he was about to collapse, one hand whipping out to catch his wrist as he cursed under his breath.

"I swear to god I will tickle you to death," Mark threatened, and Jack laughed, loud and genuine, and kicked out, catching the American lightly in the gut, shoving him away.

"Yeh stop ticklin' me and I won't have teh resort to such trickery," he taunted back, all broad grins and laughing eyes, and Mark glared at him, one hand coming out to rub across his obviously sensitive chest. Jack's eyes trailed to the TV, and he grinned broader as he watched Ethan's character picking up Mark's and dangling him over the side once more. "Yer gonna die."

"Oh, shit." Mark's eyes shot back to the TV, and suddenly he was scrambling to fetch his controller, turning back to sit proper on the couch, and Jack was still laughing as he fetched his own controller and righted himself, taking a quick moment to adjust his shirt. Ethan had already disposed of his little green _luchador_ , so he just waited and watched the two fight it out until the next round, grinning to himself as he felt the warmth from Mark's hands fading from his skin.

  


* * *

  


"Shit, I am so short."

Jack glanced up at Mark's voice, leaning away from the kitchen table where he'd been working on his laptop, and watched as his friend stretched up onto his toes, reaching towards a big bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet. He was a good four inches short at least, and Jack wondered idly why he had even bothered to try to reach for it when it was obviously beyond his reach. Not that he was complaining, mind. Mark was giving him a lovely show, his shirt pulled up to show a large swath of tan skin across his hip and back, and Jack didn't bother to shy away from the sight. He was allowed to appreciate, wasn't he? He'd had his hands all over it last night, after all.

"Yeah, yeh are," Jack agreed in a mild voice, leaning further back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, legs popped out and looking for all the world like he owned the place. "Like, really short, actually."

Mark huffed and spun on him, his mouth turned down in a scowl, but he could see the laughter in his eyes.

"Hey, you're shorter than me."

"Well yeah. But I embrace my shortness."

Jack shoved away from the table, standing up in a fluid movement on a whim and making his way over to where the red-haired man was pouting.

"For example," he said with a smug little grin, before reaching out to hook his fingers around the underside of the cabinet, gripping the little 2-inch lip that hung from the bottom of the wood. His knee came up to rest on the edge of the counter, and then he pulled himself up in an easy, practiced motion to kneel on the marble surface, the bowl easily within his reach now. "I know how to climb."

He plucked the heavy bowl from its perch, shuffling on his knees to turn back towards the American with a smug smile, feeling strangely superior in his elevated position. But the feeling evaporated as he took in Mark's face.

He was standing close, closer than he'd realized, hardly a few inches from him, and Jack's new position had him at eye level with his stomach. Which, he realized a moment too late, was just a little exposed, a stripe of skin showing under the fluttering hem of his shirt, caught up from where he'd reached so high, and his hands were full with the damn dish, which gave him no option for fixing it.

The mood in the room changed in an instant, all of Jack's arrogant words dying in his throat as he took in Mark's expression - dark, nervous, hungry. His eyes were fixed on that line of exposed white, his faint happy trail disappearing into his jeans, and Jack could feel his stomach jump as he tensed in surprise and anxiety and lust, and he swallowed thickly, fingers shaking around the bowl, and didn't move. Just waited.

There was silence between them for what felt like an eternity, Jack watching Mark and Mark watching that line of skin, until Mark's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Jack couldn't stop the little hitch of excitement in his breath.

The red-haired man seemed to take that as permission or a sign or something of the like, and the strange frozen moment passed as Mark leaned in slowly, dark eyes darting up to Jack's face as his hands reached out to grip at his hips, holding him in place. His thumbs dipped under the shirt, pushing it up farther, subtly, and Jack was breathing too hard, his heart hammering in his chest, and Mark was going to be met with a particularly hard obstacle if he wasn't careful, because this was doing things to him he couldn't have imagined, and he hadn't even really done anything yet.

The bowl felt heavy in his hands, and he was afraid to move, to break the moment, but he didn't want to hold it anymore. He shifted it to one hand, shaky fingers gripping the lip and praying he didn't drop it as he placed it carefully, _so carefully_ , on the counter next to him, the clink of ceramic on marble sounding too loud to his ears, even with the blood rushing in them. But Mark didn't seem phased, and Jack watched with bated breath as he brought his lips up to press softly against the exposed flesh of his stomach.

It wasn't really a kiss. More like contact, his lips widening to grip at the skin, like he was trying to take it with him. And then he opened his mouth further, and it was teeth scraping across him instead, and Jack let out a shaky, muffled moan, one hand flying up to catch the sound as the other reached out to grip at Mark's shoulder. Those brown eyes were still fixed on him, watching him, taking in his face as he placed little nips across the exposed skin, from one hip to the other, and there was no way the red-haired man could miss what it was doing to him now, not with how close he was to the newly interested area of his body.

Mark pulled away slowly, and Jack sank back to sit on his heels instinctively, his cheeks tinged with pink as he resisted the urge to cover his arousal. That had . . . escalated quickly, and Jack was suddenly at a loss, his mind reeling as his body thrummed with excitement, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now that Mark was just staring at him.

"Sorry," Mark murmured, and it was soft and gentle, but there was a rasp on the edge of his voice that had his toes curling against the cool counter. "Was that too much?"

"N-no," Jack answered, too quickly, his heart hammering, and he had to swallow before he could continue. His knees were starting to hurt, and he moved them without thought, swinging his legs out so that he was sitting on the counter instead, feet dangling on either side of Mark. "Yeh just startled me, s'all."

"Ah," Mark said. His hands were on his thighs, and Jack wasn't sure if he had just put them there, or if they had slipped down from their place on his hips. They felt warm either way.

"Are yeh just determined teh give me an awkward chub in every room of this house?" Jack asked, laughing, trying to shake the nerves from his body, and from Mark's too - he could feel his fingers fidgety against his jeans, knew he was nervous, didn't want him to be.

But it had the desired effect. Mark's face split into a crooked grin, and he narrowed his eyes a little, teasing, the fingers on his thighs squeezing against him.

"Maybe," he growled, part goofy, part sexy, or maybe that was just how Jack was hearing his voice just then. "Anything I can do to make you uncomfortable, Jackaboy."

"Well, yeh aren't doin' a very good job," he teased, grinning at him, his boldness slowly creeping back as he put his arms around Mark's shoulders, just kind of flopping them there to rest. "Yeh've had 24 hours, and yeh've only managed to do the kitchen and the living room."

"And the dining room!" Mark complained in an outraged voice, leaning away from him but not breaking his grip on his shoulders.

"Ehhhhhh, I dunno if I'd give yeh that one."

"I mean, I could fix that," Mark said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Jack laughed at that.

"I think I have other rooms I'd rather dirty first."

It had just slipped out without thought, just part of the teasing and he was grinning at Mark with eyebrows raised in an almost goofy expression. But then he heard the little noise Mark made, and he realized what he'd said, and the connotations behind it.

Oh. Well then. Alright.

Mark took a moment, his eyes bright, if a little surprised, as he looked him over. Jack watched him swallow, watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips again, watched the way his mouth pulled up in a cute little nervous smile as he brought one hand up to run it through his hair.

"Alright," Mark said, and his voice didn't shake as much as his fidgeting fingers would imply. He still sounded light, airy, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, and only a little breathless. "Where do you wanna start then?"

Jack swallowed, mimicking the American's nervous gesture as he wet his own lips and grinned back, all anxiety and teeth and hopeful excitement.

"Um," he started ineloquently, searching for the right amount of levity to add to his voice as he asked, "Yer room?"

"Yeah?" Mark asked, and now he sounded a little more breathless, his hand falling back to his thighs, trailing up to grip closer at his hips, and he was grinning that crooked grin again, the one that made Jack's gut flip in delicious ways.

"Yeah. If tha's good with yeh?"

"That's good with me, Jack."

Jack had to bite his lip to stop the weird noise he tried to make. Mark had said his name a million times before. Why did that fuck him up so bad now?

"I'll, uh," Mark continued, and his eyes were looking anywhere but at Jack's face, roaming over his chest, his arms, the counter, his fingers pressing in little waves against his hip bones, but still grinning that crooked grin. "I'll just leave my door unlocked, and you can, uh . . . you can just . . . come up whenever you like."

"Okay," Jack said, and he was grinning too now, that swooping feeling in his gut sending electricity down to his toes, and he tried his best to repress the weird giggle that wanted to climb its way out of his throat just then.

"Okay," Mark mimicked. And then again, one of his hands pulling back to slap his thigh good-naturedly. "Okay."

"Okay!" Jack laughed, louder, and the hands around his shoulders carded into the hair on the back of his head, giving it a light tug before unraveling himself from the man and turning back to grab the bowl.

"Don't break that," Mark warned, still grinning, as he backed up to give him space, turning back towards where he had been preparing to bake some brownies. Jack looked after him, open-mouthed and offended as he pushed himself off the counter and back onto the tile floor.

" _Excuse_ me, I'm thinkin' a thank yeh is in order."

"Pretty sure I already thanked you," Mark shot back, and turned to give him a quick wink and a cheeky grin, and Jack cradled the bowl against his chest as he stomped over to Mark's workplace next to the stove.

" _That_ was not a thank yeh," he told him in a low voice, shoving the bowl onto the counter and putting a hand to his hip in playful afront. "That was me lettin' yeh have a taste. So actually, I'm'a need two thank you's, sir."

Mark turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, that smile still playing around his lips, before reaching out to catch Jack's free hand, pulling it up to place a slow kiss on his knuckles. His lips felt warm and wet and soft, and Jack flushed at the feeling.

"Thank you, my good sir Jack, for fetching my prized bowl." He spoke the words in an exaggerated English accent, snobby and uptight and goofy, but his eyes were dark as he added in a low voice, "I'll give you the other one tonight."

Jack felt like swooning, as stupid as that was, but he fought himself, grinning back with sharp eyes instead.

"Another chub isn't a thank you, Mark."

Mark laughed, and the sound went right to his groin.

"It's not just gonna be a chub this time, buddy boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I wrote half of the next chapter before I ever wrote this one, because I was so excited. CAN ANYONE GUESS WHY?


	20. Doors*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk). Also, she has dubbed [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BB7R0ZY9w94) as the official song for this chapter.
> 
> Now look away, kiddies. This is why this fic is rated **Explicit**. You have been warned.

Doors were not inherently scary things . . . were they? They were just doors. Every house had them. Lots of them, actually. You had to use them all the time if you lived in a normal modern society, and they never did anything bad. They were just wood - or glass or metal, or whatever they were made out of, but the material didn't matter, it was always harmless. There was nothing really spooky about a door. Nothing that should be frightening about the plain white wood glazed in yellow from the hall light.

And yet . . .

Jack swallowed around the creature trying to climb its way up his throat, running sweaty palms across his loose PJs for what felt like the millionth time and tried to reason this out. It was just a door, after all. Just a simple wooden door. He'd opened it before. It never did anything wrong. It wasn't going to jump out and bite him. And yet the idea of opening it just then was akin to wrestling a lion.

Mark was behind there. In the privacy of his room. Waiting for Jack. To do . . . _things_. And yeah, Jack was excited about, even now with his heart doing a funny jig on his tonsils. He'd been excited all goddamn day. But now the door was right in front of him, and it was now or never, and he'd actually have to pick up his hand and knock on the damn thing if he wanted this. No passively letting Mark start shit, this was all him.

Last chance. Last chance to back out, because this was definitely going to cross a border line that there was no going back from. Kissing was one thing. He'd drunkenly kissed friends before. Okay, maybe not his male friends, but it was the same basic principle. You could laugh it off, or ignore it and it basically went away. But Mark had made it pretty clear he wasn't just intending to kiss him tonight, and that . . . those kinds of things . . . well, they weren't as easy to ignore and wait for them to go away. You couldn't just laugh that off as drunken antics, or just stupid playing. Once you saw your friend naked, _touched_ your friend naked, probably got your naked friend off . . . well, it wasn't really just a friendship anymore, was it?

That line of thought was suddenly derailed as Jack's mind fixated on one particular revelation. Mark . . . naked. He was probably going to see Mark naked. Hell, he might be naked right now, Jack would _not_ put that past him. And that was . . . well, for all of his fantasizing about it, that was very much real and a little frightening, but also _extremely_ exciting.

It wasn't like he could really back down right now anyway. He was pretty damn sure this was what he wanted. He'd dreamed about it enough. And Mark was open to it, and he'd made everything feel easy and light and comfortable so far, and there was no reason to hesitate now - not when he had his crush probably laid out in bed just on the other side of this stupid scary door, waiting for him.

Yeah. Yeah, alright. He could do this.

He'd meant to knock quietly, to avoid bringing attention from anyone in the other rooms down the hall, but he cringed as he realized he might have knocked _too_ lightly. He could barely hear it himself, and he faltered, fist still in the air, trying to wait a few seconds before he tried again so it wasn't just a weird series of uneven knocks if Mark _could_ hear him, and awesome, he was already awkward as a newborn giraffe-

"Come in!"

Mark's voice was bright, normal, if a little quiet, and Jack swallowed, his hand falling back to the stupid brass door knob that _was not_ going to bite him, and pushed it open. The room was darker than hall was, the overhead light out in favor of a lamp next to the bed, casting soft yellow light over the dark bedspread, light sheets, a swathe of tan skin, and suddenly Jack balked as he shoved the door closed behind him.

Shit, was he actually naked?

It took him a moment to absorb the image in front of him. Mark was propped up on the bed, near the headboard, one knee pulled up and an arm tossed carelessly over top of it. And he was shirtless, that smooth skin over lean muscle winking at him in the sparse light, and Jack's heart was racing just at the sight. It took him several more moments to process that the dark pajama bottoms were not a part of the bedspread, and he was, in fact, wearing pants.

"God," Jack breathed with a little laugh, and Mark cocked his head at him, smiling but unsure as he continued. "I thought you were naked."

Mark laughed at that, a hushed sound hissed out between clenched teeth, and Jack watched as he threw his head back, baring his throat and tossing the messy red hair from his eyes.

"I mean, I coulda been, if you preferred."

"Oh, god, no."

"Just, like, laid out all seductive on the bed-"

"Mark-"

"-just waiting for you-"

"-no-"

"-like, 'hey buddy boy, welcome to my love den.'"

Jack couldn't answer as he slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the snorts that were definitely too loud and watched Mark waggle his eyebrows in a mockingly suggestive face.

"What, you don't like my love den?" Mark was leaning forward now, his elbow resting on his knee as his hand hung down over it, and he had cocked his head to the side with a cheeky wink. "I was gonna have the good tunes playing and everything, but I couldn't find my old boombox. I figure we'll just have to make them ourselves, you know, like-"

"Mark, no!" Jack started immediately, because he knew exactly where this was going, and he was already darting forward, giggling as he rushed to stop the damn man-child from starting up his interpretation of cheesy porno music.

He'd only gotten a few terrible bars of "bow chicka wow wow" out before Jack was on the bed, bouncing across it on his knees to slap a hand over the American's mouth.

"If yeh start yer own theme music, I'm leavin'," Jack warned, and watched the way the American's eyes crinkled as he grinned under his hand, his stubble scratching at his palm. He leaned away, escaping Jack's grip, and grinned at him with laughing eyes.

"What, you don't like my theme music?"

"God no."

"I thought it was appropriate."

"Mark, I told yeh, I'm not doing pornos." He was laughing still, doing his best to keep his voice down as he watched the way Mark's eyes sparkled in the dim light, all goofy and mischievous and warm, and his stomach was still doing flips, but they were the good kind of flips now. Mark really had a way with that, didn't he.

"Oh . . . well, I should probably go stop the camera then, huh?"

Jack smacked him at that, mild but forceful, across his bare chest, and Mark just grinned at him, too proud of his stupid jokes by half.

He was so . . . pretty. Bright and open, and laid out all comfortable almost beneath him. His hair was a mess, tousled around and already slipping back into his warm, dark eyes. The muscles in the arm holding him up were bunched, tensed and clear under his sunkissed skin, and he could see each breath he took in the rise and fall of his chest, tan skin and dusky nipples and smooth all the way down. He looked . . . god, it sounded awful to say "delicious", but Jack was having a lot of trouble coming up with another word for him just then.

"God, can you imagine the shippers?" The American asked, and Jack did his best not to squeak as he felt hands at his hips, pulling him closer with light pressure. He shuffled forward a little on his knees, giving in to the silent request, but resisted the urge to throw his leg over Mark's lap again. "If it ever got out? Like, on tape? We would probably literally kill some people."

"Probably," Jack said in a small voice, trying to keep it level, normal, even as he felt warm fingers pressed up under his shirt, thumbs digging in lightly to his hips. "I'd . . . I'd rather not be a murder, so, yeh know, probably best not to be recordin' nothin'."

"Yeah," Mark said in a wistful voice, and he was leaning up higher, a little smile on his face. "It'd probably kill me, too."

Jack's stomach flipped harshly, and he knew he gasped before Mark pressed his lips against his, catching the sound and chasing it as he molded his mouth perfectly over Jack's. It was quick, lasting only a second or two, but it was anything but chaste - all hot breath and warm lips and just a quick taste of his tongue before he was pulling back again, that damn mischievous look in his eye.

Jack huffed, glaring down at him good-naturedly as he watched that snarky little smile of his playing at the corners of his mouth, and he decided right then and there that he was going to drive Mark mad tonight if it was the last thing he did.

"Did you know your cheeks turn red, like, immediately when you kiss?"

Yep. Definitely gonna fuck him up.

Jack brought a hand up to Mark's chest, giving him a firm shove that sent him tumbling back into his sheets with a laugh, and chasing that stupid shit-eating grin of his from his face.

"I'll show yeh somethin' red," Jack muttered, before swinging his leg over his lap, like he'd wanted to, and straddling the idiot. Mark made a noise at that that sounded suspiciously throaty, but Jack couldn't be sure as he picked his head up to watch the green-haired man above him.

"O-oh, taking charge, Jackaboy?"

No, there was definitely a hitch in his breath when he said that, and Jack grinned to himself, a smug sense of satisfaction washing over him as he realized the American was not quite so cool and collected as he put on.

"Well, yeh said I could explore, right?" he asked him, grinning as he brought his hands down to push up across his stomach, just mapping out his torso with his fingers. Mark didn't respond, just nodded, watching him as his fingers trailed across his skin. "So I'm gonna explore."

There. Another little throaty breath, not quite a groan, but trying to be, and Jack couldn't help the bubbly little laugh that fell from his lips as he brought his hands carefully up his body, pressing his fingers into his skin and feeling the way he jumped beneath him. He was still grinning that crooked grin, his eyes still smiling, still acting like the little shit he was. But Jack could almost taste the anticipation on him as his eyes roved over him, and big hands fluttered almost nervously before they fell on the Irishman's hips, gripping just a little tighter than was casual.

"By all means," Mark said, and his voice was a little breathless, the hint of a laugh on his lips as he lay back again, stretching out to give him access to whatever he wanted.

Jack licked his lips, sucking in a shaky breath that he tried to muffle as he leaned forward. He was fairly . . . confident when it came to sex. Usually. He knew what he was doing, at least, and he enjoyed doing it. He liked making his partner feel good, he liked all the little gasps and moans he could elicit with deft fingers and tender lips, and he liked watching them come apart under him. But that was when he knew what he was doing. Those were women. He knew just where to touch, what to do. But Mark was . . . different. The lines were different, the texture, the shape. There were different things to touch, and he wasn't sure what was good and what was bad and what was boring.

But . . . well, he was a fast learner. Or at least he thought he was. And if he could get Mark to give him some kind of response, he could probably figure this out pretty quickly. It just might be a little . . . awkward at first.

Jack trailed his fingers up Mark's side, delicate and careful, and watched the way his stomach jumped and tensed, a little gasp falling from the American's lips. He had tilted his head back, eyes closed, a little smile on his face, and Jack grinned as he brought his fingers back down the same path, harder this time, nails scraping across the skin and earning him the smallest of groans. Okay. Maybe not as awkward as he thought.

There was a hint of pink to the tan of Mark's cheeks now, and Jack leaned forward carefully, bringing himself closer to take it in as his hands pressed out across his stomach again, pushing up to his chest, palms dragging roughly across his pecs. Should he avoid the nipples? That was more of a girl thing, wasn't it? Or maybe it was still a thing for guys too, at least when it was guys with guys, and okay, he was over thinking that. His mind flashed back to the couch earlier in the day, the way Mark's mouth had opened in that shaky little breath as Jack twisted at his nipple to make him leave him be, and he figured, fuck it, that was probably enough proof to try it out at least.

He brought one hand down, thumb and forefinger framed around the dusky little peak, and paused for just a moment, waiting for Mark to pull away, before swiping his thumb over it, quick and rough, and watched his face.

Just like before, the effect was immediate. Mark's eyes opened with a little jump, his body tensing under him, and he squeaked. He fucking _squeaked_.

"Teh fuck was that?" Jack laughed, teasing as he pressed his fingers firmly into the flesh around the rising nub and grinning as he watched those brown eyes dart to his face.

"I have really sensitive nipples," Mark admitted sheepishly, the fingers at Jack's hips tightening their grip as he laughed a nervous laugh.

"Oh, do yeh now?" Jack asked, and felt the grin split wider up his face at the look that passed over his friends face.

"No, Jack, wait-" but his voice cut off into another particularly unmanly noise as Jack swiped over the sensitive flesh again before catching it between his fingers and giving it a light pinch. Mark twisted under him weakly, whining, and Jack took in the sight with a strange sense of smug satisfaction.

"J-Jack, please."

Oh, okay, wow. That went from being wickedly fun to breathtakingly sexy in about two seconds flat. Mark's lip was caught in his teeth, and he was looking up at Jack with those damn chocolate eyes, and Jack moved on instinct, leaning forward to bury his face in Mark's neck, hiding the flush spreading up his cheeks as he gave the sensitive skin there a quick nip.

"Maybe if yeh weren't such a fuckin' tease," Jack breathed into his throat, doing his best to keep up the snarky bravado he'd had only moments before. "I wouldn't have teh be so mean."

"Aw, come on," he started, hands trailing up under Jack's shirt and sending sharp shots of electricity straight to the growing warmth in his gut. But Jack caught his wrists quick, shoving those wicked hands back to his hips with a firm grip and giving him a sharp nip just below his ear.

"No, I'm explorin'. You keep yer hands to yerself."

"That's not fair," Mark whined, but Jack only laughed, trying to collect that determination he'd had for a while there. Mark shifted under him, almost wriggled, and Jack grinned into his neck, letting his hands fall back down to his waist, squeezing the firm flesh there as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his neck.

When he pressed another one a little lower and caught a bit of flesh between his teeth, Mark groaned deep in his chest, and Jack's body lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, tingling and flushing in excitement, and he went lower for the next one, just above his collarbone, taking the time to suck lightly on the skin, careful not the leave a mark. He wouldn't be able to cover it easily, and he knew he couldn't be leaving marks that would be easy to see in videos, but god, did he want to. He wanted to litter his neck and chest with hickies and stare at them for days, just as proof that this had happened. That Mark had let him do this. That he'd _enjoyed it_.

Instead, he settled for trailing his kisses lower, across his collarbone, then lower still, to his chest, and he had to scoot down his body to reach, his soft pants scraping deliciously against Mark's, and he felt the rumble of the groan against his lips.

This wasn't so hard, actually. It was pretty similar, in a lot of ways, and Mark was vocal enough that he could figure it out on the fly, figure out where to press his fingers and scrape his teeth just by the way his breath hitched, and the way his thumbs dug into his hips, pulling him closer. He'd expected this to be a lot more awkward, take more time to get to this point, and he'd figured he'd be a goddamn nervous wreck throughout the whole thing. But he just . . . wasn't. Why was everything just so easy with Mark?

How long had it been now since he'd first had that sinful thought? When he'd first seen Mark's face go slack in pleasure, first seen his chocolate eyes fix on his face as he moaned around the fingers kneading at his flesh. _Was that what he looked like during sex?_ It had been so scary then, so startling and wrong and terrifying, and he'd been so goddamn _guilty_. Like something was wrong with him, because it wasn't _right_ to have those kinds of thoughts about your friend. Especially your supposedly _straight_ friend. And yet, here he was, leaving a trail of hot kisses down Mark's body as he groaned beneath him, and yep, that was pretty much how he looked during sex.

God, how had he managed to get here?

Mark realized where he was headed a split second before he got there, sucking in a sharp breath and starting to say something, probably "hey". But the sound hitched into a high, breathy whine as Jack dragged his tongue across the dusky peak, slow and rough, and he grinned as he felt Mark arched subtly into the touch.

"Y-you-" Mark started, joking irritation in his voice, but Jack cut him off by catching the little nub between his teeth, scraping against it with light pressure, and Mark moaned in a shaky breath before bringing one hand up to grip Jack's shoulder, squeezing in frustration. "You suck."

Jack laughed at that, swiping his tongue across the hard bud again with a broad grin before answering in a coy tone.

"Not yet, I don't."

Mark groaned, his other hand coming up to card roughly through his bright red hair, and he glared at him from under dark lashes. "And you call _me_ a tease."

Jack flashed a grin back at him from his low position, knowing he was probably flushed and red and making a weird giddy face, and he probably looked stupid, but he didn't care. He caught Mark's gaze, holding it, his body heating up under those dark eyes as he dragged himself back up, still grinning like a fool, careful to press against him as he went and relishing the feeling of Mark pressing back. Mark's eyes tracked his every move, flickering across his face, throat bobbing as he swallowed even as he smiled, and Jack just wanted to kiss him.

Which . . . well, he could, he realized. So he did, one arm coming up to lean above his shoulder, the other reaching down to rest against his chest, and he pressed his lips against the American's, tasting the little smile he was wearing and returning it. Gentle at first, little kisses, both of them breathless, laughing, but careful. Mark's hands came back to his hips, heavy fingers pressing against skin as he slipped them under his clothes, just holding against his hot flesh, and Jack sighed against his lips, pressing closer, wanting to feel his warmth against his chest.

Mark turned his head to the side, just a little, just enough to deepen the kiss by little paces, pressing Jack's mouth open softly and catching the next little sigh he let out, answering with a low sound in the back of his throat. Jack let him take control, let him work his lips open, let him into his mouth to explore, and met his tongue with his own, not fighting it, just . . . tasting. And when Mark sucked his bottom lip into his own mouth, grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh, Jack groaned, and didn't resist the urge to rock against him.

They were wearing loose pants - it wasn't hard to tell they were both . . . interested, to say the least. And the sound Mark made as he pressed against him, a little sloppy, just dragging his hips against his, only confirmed how he felt about it. Jack's heart was racing in his chest, his breath picking up around Mark's mouth as he felt the hands at his hips tighten, moving him roughly to line them up better, before he rocked his heavy body up into him in turn, and Jack was lost.

It probably wasn't the most dignified thing in the world. But Jack couldn't find it in himself to give two shits about that just then, not with Mark's mouth working hungrily against his, Mark's hands gripping his hips so sweet, Mark's hot length pressed against his own, through clothes that were thick enough to be frustrating, but thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he was literally humping Mark's dick right now, and that should be freakier than it was, or at least make him pause and think about all this, because that was the epitome of gay, and not even super sexy gay, but he just didn't care. Not with the way he felt against him. Not with those groans in his ears. Not when it was _Mark_.

They were grinding against each other, the kiss half-forgotten as they mostly just pressed their lips together, gasping into each other's mouths. Mark's fingers were biting into Jack's hips, shifting his waistband down farther to get more friction for the grip, and Jack's hands were wandering again, one digging into the firm chest beneath him, the other gripping harshly at his shoulder, holding himself up, holding himself _closer_ , as he worked against him. And it was good. Fuck, it was so good, and he could probably stay like this forever, or until both of them fell apart against each other, but this wasn't exactly the best use of his time. It was his first time with a guy, first time with Mark - he didn't want that memory to be of cumming in his pants after a little makeout and grinding.

So despite his body's loud protests, Jack pulled away, a shiver running through him as Mark groaned at the loss, his fingers tightening but not dragging him back down. The American's eyes fluttered open, catching Jack's for a moment, both of them flushed and breathless, swallowing shaky breaths. He was so . . . shit, pretty didn't do it justice. Pretty was pure, and Mark looked anything but pure just then, his hair disheveled and lips a red mess, eyes dark and lustful, and fuck, "delicious" still sounded awful and cheesy and like something from a bad romance novel, but fuck if it wasn't what he looked like.

Jack took a shaky breath, trying to gather his thoughts again, trying to remember his own goddamn name, honestly. His heart felt like it was hammering directly against his ribcage, and he could feel each beat in his aching erection now, fully up from the little intense makeout. And yep, once again, that had escalated quickly - from just a little teasing to full on mindless grinding, and why was it just so easy to get out of hand with Mark? But now he needed to just slow down, and think for a goddamn second, because he was at the end of the bit he had actually thought about, and he had no idea where he was going from here.

So what now? So many possibilities, too many to think about, and he was sure if he just flipped their positions that Mark would take over and give him whatever his body wanted. It could be easy. Mark seemed to make everything easy. But he didn't want to just lay back and enjoy this. He wanted to be an active part. He wanted to take, to experience, the way _he_ wanted to. And he wasn't exactly sure what that was yet, but he knew he wouldn't forgive himself if he just laid back and . . . let it happen.

"You good?"

Mark was still watching him, his eyes dark but sparkling, and his mouth had crooked up into a breathless version of his crooked smile - still just as breathtaking, and Jack was struggling to think again as he watched Mark look him over.

"Yeah," he managed after a moment, laughing a little as he shifted back up onto his palms, holding himself up above him as Mark grinned a lopsided grin. "Just, ah . . . just-"

"A little worked up?" Mark asked with a shit-eating grin, and Jack felt the blush rush across his face, hot and angry, before the American continued, in the faintest Irish accent. "Did ya want help with that?"

Oh, that's right. He was gonna fuck him up, wasn't he? Wipe that smug little smile off his too-handsome face and make him regret all his teasing and _playing_ , because Jack could _play_ too, and he was not just going to sit back and take this shit. Not when Mark was looking _far_ too comfortable for the circumstances.

"No," Jack answered, letting his voice pitch low and husky, eyes bright with mischief as he shifted back a little, giving himself room. Mark's eyes were watching him, sharp, anticipating, but still laughing as he licked his lips, and Jack wanted to see that face twisted up in a groaning mess, slack-jawed and awed and not quite so smug.

"I said I was gonna explore," Jack murmured in a rough voice, leaning down just a little as he brought one hand down to the American's shoulder, trailing rough fingers against bare skin, dragging down his collarbone, down the mild swell of his chest, down his smooth stomach, down, down, down, and Mark was definitely losing that smug smile now. "So I'm gonna explore."

The fact that he was about to touch another guy's dick did not go by unnoticed by his racing mind, but it just didn't seem like the most important part of this experience. The more important part was that he was about to touch _Mark's_ dick, and Mark's mouth had parted in surprise, a little hushed breath slipping past his lips and eyes falling to watch the path of his hand as he brushed down past his waistband. Jack pressed his hand down harder as he ran it over his hips, teasing, slow, staying just far enough from that overly-sensitive skin that he'd only be able to feel the shift in the fabric, and he could already tell that was going to drive him insane.

Jack was running circles around his throbbing shaft, careful not to brush it by accident, which was harder than he expected, considering he had no real idea of the size or position, and he was kind of working blind here. His eyes trailed down to watch, to take in the outline against the dark pants, watch the way his stomach was trembling with each exhale, and he could hear his heavy breathing in his ear. Mark's hands had fallen to his thighs, and he was kneading against the flesh there, and he heard the little huff of irritation the American let out as Jack got so painfully close, even ghosting over the dark outline only to press down on the other side instead.

"Shit," Mark breathed harshly in his ear, and Jack grinned as that shot warmth right to that place below his stomach, biting back the sound he wanted to make in response. "What am I gonna have to do to get you to touch it?"

Jack laughed, the sound half rushed nerves and half pleasure, and he risked a quick glance up at the man under him, catching chocolate eyes to share his wicked smile.

"Yeh could ask," Jack murmured back. Mark seemed to search his face for a moment, lip caught in his teeth, before he fell back, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the ceiling.

"Jack, please touch my dick."

_Shit._ Okay, that had been all bravado and false confidence, and he hadn't _actually_ expected him to say it. He was just playing. But shit, _shit_ , how could he not when he'd _actually asked him?_ God, _he'd actually asked him_.

Jack didn't press down on the hot mass through his pants. It didn't seem right, not when Mark had made an official request, and Jack just wanted to reward him for actually being able to say it. He could tease him more later, he was sure. There'd be time.

Instead, he rested his forehead against Mark's chest, steadying himself as he brought both hands up to Mark's waistband, hooking fingers over the edge to tug at the stretchy cloth. The American shifted immediately, _eagerly_ , popping his hips up to arch away from the bed and give the Irishman the room he needed, and suddenly Jack was fumbling, fingers searching clumsily for the line of his boxers, trying to hook them both together, because he didn't want Mark to have to lift up again, and yep, he wasn't really prepared for this, but it was now or never.

He didn't bother trying to get them all the way off - just shoved them down past where he was sitting and letting Mark take care of the rest, a few messy kicks and he had them off, and now there was officially a naked Markiplier under him.

It was . . . okay, it was weird. Not a bad kind of weird, mind. But jarring to go from his familiar form, the one he had stored under his name in his head, what he pictured when he thought of him, to this. He'd seen him enough with his shirt off for that to be in his databanks too, but this was . . . this was very different. And he couldn't _not_ drink it in.

He'd thought Mark's stomach had looked good before - smooth, thick, faint ridges of muscles coming down to a narrow waist - when it fed into a nice pair of jeans, or even these stupid pajama pants. But now . . . not just the tips of his hips teasing out from over his waistband, but a v-line framing his scars, and his faint little happy trail, right down to . . .

Jack licked his lips, moving one hand over to prop himself up, forehead on Mark's chest, afraid to look up just then because he _knew_ his face was stupidly red. But he also just . . . couldn't look away as he lifted his other hand to softly, so softly, to take the rigid shaft in his palm.

It was hot. And heavy. And thick. And Mark made such a sweet noise as he wrapped his fingers around it, shifting to find the right grip, hefting it's weight and just marveling at the moment as the American panted heavily in his ear.

"Could you . . ." Mark started in a rushed whisper, his voice sounding so rough, before he he pressed his hips up ever so slightly, small enough to miss it if you weren't paying attention. But oh, was Jack paying attention. "Could you just . . . stroke . . . please."

"Um," Jack started, having to stop, and swallow, and clear his throat, before he could continue. "Did yeh have . . . stuff . . . for when yer . . ."

"Yeah," Mark said quickly, and then he was sitting up, too fast, and Jack resisted the urge to jerk back, sitting back slowly on his heels instead as he released his grip on his burning skin. Mark leaned across the bed, reaching for his nightstand, and Jack's eyes fell to his hips, the bone jutting against his tan skin as he twisted to open one of the little drawers and fish around inside. "Here."

Jack caught the little bottle he'd tossed his way, surprised to find lube instead of lotion, but he wasn't about to question - now wasn't the time. Mark was laying flat out again, shifting, swallowing, nervous eyes flitting around the room as he gave him a shaky smile and a laugh, and Jack returned it quick before popping the cap off the bottle and lathering it across his hand.

This time when he reached back to pick up the heavy shaft, he wasn't quite as soft, finding a firmer grip as he carefully ran his hand down the length to spread the slickness, and Mark groaned, open-mouthed, before turning his head back and closing his eyes again.

"Yeah, just . . . just a little harder . . . yeah, like that, and . . . ah, wow . . . just . . . yeah, y-you . . . you got it . . . _fuck_."

Jack sucked in a breath, eyes fixed on Mark's face as it slackened in pleasure, his voice doing weird things to his gut, and he was trying his best to find the right rhythm while also focusing on _not_ humping into Mark's leg just then. This wasn't that hard, actually, when you got down to the technical application. It was odd to be backward, the curve the wrong direction, and he couldn't use the little practiced flip of his fingers to tease that place just below the crown that made him curl his toes. But he was doing pretty well, if Mark's soft moans and muffled groans told him anything, so it wasn't so much his abilities as it was just keeping his head straight in the moment.

Mark's hands were roaming again, up from his thighs to grip at his sides, then back down to slip under his shirt, roving across his skin, up his back, across his chest, and Jack's heart was stuttering at the contact. When one hand came down to tug at his pants, Jack couldn't help but keen, a soft little whine, because he _wanted_ it, but he wanted to have his head together enough to watch Mark for just a little longer.

"Not yet," Jack breathed, his free hand coming out to catch the intruder, his grip just a little rough. He guided the hand up his chest instead, letting him push against his skin all the way up to his neck before he released him, hoping to take the sting out of the rejection, but Mark didn't seem that upset. He pressed his hand out along the Irishman's neck, arm still trapped under his shirt, as his other hand slipped down to grab a greedy handful of Jack's ass.

It didn't take him long to get him where he wanted, to see what he'd wanted to see. Mark was panting beneath him, chest heaving with each stuttered breath, mouth open and head thrown back as his hand twisted in Jack's hair. The hand at his ass was still kneading, pressing and squeezing, and Jack didn't mind the feeling as he felt the red-haired man straining under him. He'd never seen Mark cum, didn't know what signs to look for, but he'd guess he was pretty close.

"Jack," he said suddenly, voice wrecked and broken and he was definitely pleading now. "Jack, please, I want . . . I want to touch you, come on, _please_."

Jack nodded without thought, shuddering at the sound of his husky voice, feeling the way the fingers in his hair tugged and threaded in messy lines. Mark made a noise at that, and then he was reaching up, opening his eyes again as he tugged at the hem of Jack's shirt, forcing him to stop his ministrations as Mark ripped it over his head.

He felt exposed then, but only for a moment before Mark's hands were roaming across his again, greedy, hungry, and he heard the way the American groaned, low in his throat. It made him feel . . . _wanted_.

When his big hands fell to his waistline, fingers twisting in to find his boxers, Jack resisted the urge to stop him, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared to have them removed.

"It's not the same," Jack blurted out suddenly, and he heard the way Mark laughed, breathless, at that. He hadn't even realized he was going to say it, but the thought had just hit him, sudden and scary, that he looked _very_ different from Mark.

"What?"

"It's not . . . the same. I'm . . . my-"

"Oh, you're not circumcised." Mark said it so matter of factly, even around his hoarse voice, and Jack blushed, staring down at the tanned stomach below him, and the leaking cock laid across it.

"Yeah, it's . . . it's not gonna like . . . look the same, and-"

"Jack, I'm sure your dick is gorgeous," Mark said, laughing, still breathless, and one hand came back up to card roughly through his hair. "Stop freaking out."

"M'not freakin' out," Jack muttered in response, but Mark only chuckled and leaned up to press a quick, hot kiss against his lips, before bringing his hands back to his hips and shoving at the clothes still wrapped around them.

A few awkward moments of shuffling later, and Jack was officially naked in bed with Mark. Who was also naked. Jesus fucking Christ, that was insane. But then Mark was popping the cap off the lube, and pouring it into his hand, and reaching for Jack, and then Jack didn't really care about how insane it was.

His hand was warm, even with the cool liquid, and Jack couldn't help but jump into the touch, his body tensing in surprise. Mark didn't waste any time, didn't tease him all slow and careful, like he'd expected. Instead, he brought his hand down across his length smoothly, spreading the lubricant and groaning as he felt Jack's hands returning to his own aching member.

It was strange, actually. He was so practiced with the motion that he felt almost like he was just jerking himself off, only things were just off enough to make sure he knew it wasn't. Like the feel of the cock in his hands, and how the hand working over his own shaft wasn't going at the same speed. But looking at Mark, watching his face, the way he kept closing his eyes and moaning, only to open them and let them fall back to Jack's face, or back to where they were touching each other - he knew who the hand at his shaft belong to.

Mark had already been so close before, he wasn't surprised he got there first. It hit him quick, one moment he was gasping, little clipped half-words that never made it into proper English on his tongue, and then he was groaning sharply, his voice picking up, his whole body tensing as he spilled across Jack's hand, across his own quivering stomach, and his voice was so _wrecked_ as he called _his_ name.

"J-Jack, fuck, I- . . . _god_ ," he groaned, the final word drawn out on his raw throat, and Jack bucked harshly against his hand, insanely turned on by the little display, and frustrated at the way Mark's hand had stilled for a moment against him. He looked so _blissful_ , his lips pulled up in a little smile as his eyes rolled back, and he let out a choked little laugh, shaking, before finally collapsing, and Jack just wanted to collapse with him and rut against the wetness staining his stomach.

Mark was gasping, trying to catch his breath, as his hand resumed its work, and Jack cursed low under his breath as he thrust against it, unconcerned with how undignified he looked, because he was close, he was almost there, he just needed a little more.

Except Mark wasn't _giving_ him a little more. He was just stroking, slow and light, and his dark, sleepy eyes were fixed on Jack's face, a little crooked smile creeping up his cheek.

"M-Mark," Jack stuttered, his voice high like a whine, and he had to stop and bite his lip to catch the needy little noise he wanted to make.

"Yeah, Jack?"

Fuck, his voice was so husky and dark and just sexed-out, and Jack was so close, and he wanted to hear that voice whispering to him as he came, if Mark would just fucking _let him cum_.

"Come . . . come on, please, yeh know what yer doin'."

"What am I doing?"

"Yeh . . . Mark, harder, faster, _please_ , 'm . . . m'so close, please."

"I don't know," Mark answered, his voice still so beautiful as his chocolate eyes roamed Jack's face, that breathtaking smile splitting his lips. "I kinda wanna just watch you bite your lip like that for a while."

"Mark, please, I swear, don't do this-"

"I mean, you teased me, it's only fair."

"No-"

"But I guess," and he had to take a moment to take a shaky breath, swallowing as his eyes bore into Jack's baby blues. "I guess you already begged, so I'll be nice."

His free hand reached up to tangle itself in Jack's hair, yanking him down for a slow but forceful kiss, messy but not frantic, and Jack was just whimpering into his mouth as he felt Mark's hand quicken, twisting just right, and oh there, yes there, just like that . . .

Jack escaped his grip, burying his face in his heavy shoulder, turning to press into his neck as he struggled to control the choked sob that wanted to escape his lips. Mark didn't fight him, his hand threading through his green hair, and he only turned him just enough so he could murmur into his ear.

"Cum for me, Jack."

Jack probably couldn't have refused even if he wanted to. He felt that burning heat, like a white vice in his gut, and then he was crying out into Mark's neck, his body taking over to hump his hand as he spilled across him, pleasure rushing through him like a tidal wave, and he keened at the feeling of a strong arm wrapping around him, holding him as he shuddered and jerked through his orgasm.

He caught himself before he fell, one shaky arm holding himself up, painfully aware of the mess across Mark's torso that he was so close to falling into.

Okay. So that had happened.

Mark's arm was still wrapped around his back, and he was pressing soothing little circles into the muscle there, a low sound of contented pleasure in his throat, and Jack half-groaned, half-laughed as he pulled himself away.

"Yer such a little shit," he shot, and his voice sounded so hoarse and scratchy, taking most of the bite out of his words seeing as it was in that state because he'd just cum all across Mark's stomach. Mark laughed at that, and reached out to run his palm roughly over his arm, before leaning forward a bit. Jack cringed as he watched the mix of cum across his stomach glisten as it started to drip, and the Irishman stopped him with a firm hand. "Stay there."

He hopped off the bed, fetching his pants and throwing them on in a rush, not bothering to search for his boxers as he made his way over into the bathroom. He came back a minute later with a warm, wet washcloth, and motioned for Mark to lay back as he climbed back up onto the bed.

"You don't have to do that," Mark told him, his voice still low and soft, and Jack felt a strange blush creeping up his cheeks at the sound. _That_ , of all things, should not be what was making him embarrassed just then.

"Yer a fuckin' mess, Mark," he shot back, but didn't stop the smile from creeping into his words as he ran the cloth across his body, cleaning up the mess they'd made together. He was gentle as he rubbed the rough cloth against him, just relearning the lines he'd just spent the last ten minutes exploring, and tracing softly over the scar lines there. Tender, even. Maybe.

When they were both clean, Jack went back to find the rest of his clothes, shirt tossed far off into the room, and boxers caught up in the comforter, which had ended up on the floor somehow. Mark had slipped back into his pants too, and he was running his fingers through his hair with a sleepy yawn.

He'd probably want him to leave now, he realized. It was late. That had been . . . well, tiring among all the other things. And he probably just wanted to sleep. And Jack was not about to let the little pang in his chest at that interfere with what was logical. It was probably best he go back to his room now, and just sleep this off. He'd gotten to do what he'd wanted. Mark had let him . . . explore. That was all that had been promised, anyway. He should be happy with this, because it had been _really good_ , obviously, and there might be more later if he just didn't make it awkward now.

Only, when he turned back to Mark, a quick "good night" on his lips, he found the tanned man slipping into a t-shirt, fixing his hair as he turned back to him.

"Feel like playing something for a bit?" he asked, and his eyes were so bright, even through the blissed-out look, and he was smiling at him so genuine, and he was looking at Jack like . . . like he was his favorite person in the world.

And Jack couldn't say no, even if he wanted to.

"Sure," he said with a broad grin, adjusting his shirt and trying to fix his hair as he turned to follow the American from the room, and back towards the living room, where the video games and the popcorn and the fun was.


	21. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst and gay panic, oh my.
> 
> Beta'd to the tune of [You've Got The Love by Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQZhN65vq9E) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

"Two at one-ninety-five."

"Shit, okay, one sec."

"Just beyond that ice cream truck."

"Wait, there's two coming up the ridge behind us."

"Knocked one. Where?"

"Uhhhh . . . thirty . . . northeast. They're building up behind the hill."

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Okay, come a little faster, please."

"I'll come at my own pace, thank yeh much."

Mark snorted at that, and Jack resisted the urge to throw something at him. Mostly because he didn't have anything to throw that wouldn't break. They were just far enough away from each other that Jack couldn't comfortably reach him, and that fact had not been quite so painfully obvious as when he wanted to smack the stupid out of him.

They'd been playing Fortnite for over two hours now, far past the time they should have gone to bed, into the early morning hours, and Jack wasn't tired in the least. He was riding some kind of high, his body bright and full of energy, eyes feeling like they had been permanently glued open, and he wouldn't be able to close them, even if he wanted to.

"Around the corner, around the corner," came Mark's voice, the sound coming from across the room instead of through his headphones, and Jack found he liked the change, despite the novelty. They'd managed a weird set up in Mark's office, Mark standing at his recording station, playing on his PC while Jack played cross-platform on the PS4 from the couch. Which, yeah, felt weird, and he wished he was playing on his own system and not on the quickly improvised set up. But it wasn't about the game, despite how much he usually enjoyed playing it.

It was about playing it with Mark.

"Dude, come help me with this, the one's just got a crossbow, but-" Mark's voice cut off in a muffled little shout, a softer, more genuine version of the over-the-top dramatics he liked to put on for his videos, and Jack couldn't help glancing away from the screen, over his shoulder to where Mark stood making a stupid face at his screen, blue eyes locking on his familiar frame.

He was still wearing his pajama pants, dark fabric hanging low on his tan hips, the overstretched sleeveless shirt he wore doing a poor job of keeping him modest as pretty patches of olive skin flashed at him from under the fluttering fabric. His bare arms were resting against the standing desk, tense as he moved deft fingers across his keyboard, warm eyes fixed on his screen and his hair falling in messy waves across one side of his face. And suddenly Jack just wished he was standing next to him so he could brush those red strands aside.

"Jack- fuck, Jack, help, quick, quick, quick-"

"Where?!" Jack's eyes snapped back to his own screen as he built up the side of the ridge, scanning as he followed Mark's indicator on the screen, only to watch as a flurry of bullets scattered the ground around him.

"Fuck, I'm knocked, he got me."

"I thought you said he just had a crossbow."

"No, one of them just has a crossbow, the other one has _a real gun_."

"Well maybe yeh shoulda-"

"Ahhhhhhh, he's behind the bush, the bush, Jack, oh god, I'm so dead."

"Okay, wait, I got you, Marky, I got you. Uhhhhh . . . I got the one, where's crossbow guy?"

"I don't know, he was right-"

"Oh shit, I see 'im, okay-"

"Ohhhhh, I'm gonna die."

"Yer not gonna die."

"I'm gonna die, Jack."

"Yer not gonna die! I'm'a save you!"

"No. Jack. It's time. It's time to let go."

"Mark, I'm right here, I got this-"

"No, Jack, I'm so dead, you're gonna have to win this for me."

" _Mark_. I said I'm'a save you and I- oh, yer dead."

Mark's laughter filled the room, the loudest sound between them in the last few hours as they tried to keep their voices down for the other sleeping members of the house, and Jack started at the loud noise, whipping his head back quickly to glance at him. Mark was watching him through narrowed eyes, crinkled with laughter as he forced himself into a quieter giggling fit, breathing through his teeth.

"Just . . . just 'I'm'a save ya Marky- oops, you're dead.'"

"Shut up!" Jack shot back, muffling his own laughter as he turned back to the game, determined not to die immediately if he could help it. Mark's loot was spread around his character like an item graveyard, and Jack waded through it as he hunted Mark's murderer, chasing him up freshly built ramps in the game until he'd mowed him down with a few well-timed shots. "There! I've avenged you!"

"You did," came Mark's low voice, rumbling to him from far closer than he'd expected. Jack's head spun sharply to find the American leaned against the back of the couch, hardly a foot away from him, warm chocolate eyes fixed on him with a gentle kind of focus, and Jack swallowed harshly around his heart as it leapt into his throat.

"Hi," he breathed after a second, his voice pitching a little as he forced his eyes back to the screen and his mind back to the game.

"Hey," Mark answered in a smooth voice, and this time Jack could feel as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the back of the couch, the cushion shifting under his back. "Figured I'd come watch you in person."

"Gonna watch me not fail?" Jack shot back with a grin, still painfully aware of how warm the air would be against his arm if he shifted just a little closer to the red-haired man.

Mark snorted at that and turned his attention to the screen. "Yeah, you better. You gotta win for us."

"Yeah," Jack murmured back absently, only a little breathless. "Yeah, I got this, man."

All of this just felt so . . . surreal. He'd thought about what it would be like "the morning after" on plenty of occasions, all sorts of scenarios, the anxieties sitting proud right next to the fantasies. He'd figured Mark would probably be like he was in everything that wasn't being recorded, goofy, and a little quiet, and sweet. He'd expected a morning of making breakfast together, of jokes about bedhead and hickies, stolen kisses and lingering looks.

And yeah, reality wasn't quite the same. He hadn't actually slept with Mark - or was that considered sleeping with him? He'd never gotten the rules of this straight - and he it wasn't actually the morning after. They hadn't passed out tangled up in each other and spent the night fighting over blankets. Instead, it was only a couple of hours after, and they'd just been goofing off and playing video games and being their usual selves, albeit somewhat subdued at the late hour.

But something was different. Maybe it had been different since the kiss, but it was only now that Jack was really paying attention to it. There was a softness between them, a gentle touch to the way Mark looked at him, an intent in the way he touched him, something almost sweet in the way his crooked grin only made it halfway up his face as he watched the Irishman. It was different. And it was lovely. And it was terrifying.

What . . . was this? What were they? Were they still just friends? Because this didn't feel like that, but he'd never done the whole "friends with benefits" thing, so he had no way of knowing. They'd always been fairly close, Jack's infatuation with his idol and Mark's sweet nature spurring a swiftly blooming relationship that had stayed strong despite the distance. Was this any different from that? Or was the level of feeling the same, and just everything felt different when sex was involved? Was he still just basking in a post-orgasmic bliss that had him feeling too . . . what was the word? Fluffy?

Whatever it was, it was . . . it was nice. Despite the vagueness. He liked the feeling of Mark's warm gaze on him as he played a careful game, getting lucky with a few kills, getting closer and closer to his goal, despite his original expectation that he'd be dead within seconds of losing his teammate. He liked the feeling of him standing a little too close on the couch, like the way his scent still clung to his clothes and his skin, liked the way he could still feel the ghosts of his hands across his body as he sat on the comfortable couch and played the game for Mark's entertainment.

And he liked that it was their little secret.

He didn't win. He hadn't expected to. But they ranked sixth before he died, and that was a feat in and of itself, what with their usual skill level. Mark groaned with him when he was finally shot down, but one of his big hands still came out to grip his shoulder and shove him a little, warmth seeping in under his shirt.

"Ahhh, good game, Jack, nicely done." Mark's voice was pleasantly rough when he spoke, and Jack was sure he had to be getting tired by this point. Fuck, it was almost 4 AM by his watch.

"Thanks man," he said back with a grin, turning to look the other man over with a quick eye before glancing back at the screen. "Did yeh wanna do another, or are yeh done for the night?"

"Eh, we should probably go to bed," Mark said with a weary look, running a rough hand over his face, and Jack nodded.

"Yeah, I didn't realize how late it was getting."

There was a moment of silence, neither of them speaking as they both stared absently at the TV, back on the party select screen, all bright colors and familiar shapes, and Jack was using the sight to ground him just then from the utter surrealness of the situation he'd found himself in.

He'd fooled around with Mark. It'd been nice. Really nice. And there was a promise of more in the future, if that's what he wanted. And now he was sitting with him, playing video games, and it wasn't near as awkward as he'd been afraid it would be.

"How're you doing?" Mark asked suddenly, his voice genuine but soft, and Jack felt a pang of loss alongside the squirming feeling in his gut as the American moved his hand off of his shoulder.

"I'm alright," Jack answered as easily as he could, doing his best to watch his face out of the corner of his eye without actually looking at him. He gestured briefly at the screen with a weak hand. "Glad I avenged you."

Mark gave him a little snort at that.

"No inner turmoil? Sudden hetero panic or . . . or anything like that?"

"Hetero panic?" Jack asked with an amused smile, glancing at him briefly before shying away from his face again. Mark made a noncommittal gesture with his hand, like he was wiping away the vagueness of that question.

"You know what I mean. Are ya freaking out?"

Jack paused for a moment to take stock before he answered that. Was he? He'd done things with a guy. Like . . . really gay things. He'd touched another guy's dick. He'd jerked another guy off. He'd cum from another guy's hand. That should be pretty freaky, right? He fed himself the words as many ways as he could think of, crude and harsh and jarring, trying to find some semblance of fear or uncertainty. But all he could remember was how sweet Mark's voice had sounded as he begged to touch him, and how nice it'd felt to have his strong arm wrap around him when he came undone above him.

"No," Jack said, and there was a touch of surprise as he admitted it. "No, I'm . . . I'm fine. No panic or nothin'."

"You sure?" Mark asked, and Jack watched from the corner of his eye as he shifted a little closer, leaning forward so his body was bent at a full ninety-degree angle, and his face was hovering just above his crossed arms on the back of the couch. "I'm not gonna be offended or anything if you are. I know it's not anything against me."

"No, no," Jack said quickly, pulling one leg up to rest his heel on the cushion, and his arm on the newly propped knee. "There was plenty of freaking out over the last few weeks, but I think I'd kind of . . . I think I'd figured it out mostly before I got to this point. Maybe. I don't know. But there's been a lot less freakin' out recently, and there's none right now, so . . ."

"So . . . how _are_ you feeling right now?"

Mark's voice sounded . . . still genuine, but there was a bit of something guarded deep down that had Jack shifting and swallowing around a heart picking up speed in his chest.

"Pretty good?" he almost asked, his tone posing it more of a question then a statement. "I'm . . . I dunno, maybe it hasn't all hit me yet, and I'm gonna come up on another crisis, but right now I'm just happy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's good." And Mark's voice sounded so sincere. Like he was genuinely happy for him. And a smile was creeping up Jack's face before Mark continued. "Yeah, I mean, I'm pretty good at what I do, so it's not a surprise."

"Oh, _shut up,_ Mark," Jack laughed, rolling his eyes and turning to give him his full attention for the first time since they'd stopped playing. Mark was grinning that stupid crooked grin at him, but there was still that softness to it, and Jack couldn't help tracing the laugh lines around his eyes as he giggled. "Don't be startin' that shit now, I was just startin' teh warm up to yeh."

"Nah, I'm seriously glad though. Happy I didn't like . . . fuck something up, or something."

Jack watched the soft way his features curve around his smile, and something was blooming warm and happy in his chest.

"Nah, yeh didn't fuck nothin' up," Jack told him in an almost gentle tone, and he didn't even think about the action before he reached a hand up to tossle it through Mark's bright red hair. "I'm good. Happy, even."

"So you're still thinking you're into that sweet boy booty?"

Jack snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned his attention back to the game, flicking through his stats absently as an excuse not to look at those eyes any longer. "I don't know if I'd call yeh 'sweet boy booty', Mark. Yer like, an old man at this point."

"One, I'm only a year older than you, and two, I was talking about guys in general, not just me."

Oh yeah. Guys. Not Mark. Just guys.

"Yeah," Jack managed, and his voice wavered a little at that as he took another deep breath. "Yeah, I think it's . . . I think it's definitely a thing. For me. I don't know how much of a thing, but I . . . I liked it."

"Do you think . . ." Mark started, but then he trailed off, and Jack could see the way his eyes fell to his own crossed arms, a furrowed brow marking a curious look on his face. "Do you think you're going to want to, like . . . explore it further?"

Jack had to take another deep, steadying breath before he could manage a response.

"You mean do I think I wanna try going all the way," Jack said, his voice sounding strangely steady around the words, despite how the blood was suddenly rushing in his ears.

"Yeah, like, okay, shit, I'm not saying that like, 'dude, you gonna let me fuck you'-"

Jack cringed hard at that, and he knew Mark caught it, the way his voice cut off in a distressed little noise showing he'd realized his mistake.

"No, I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know yeh didn't," Jack reassured quickly, and the arm resting on his knee came up to run fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, heat spreading across the skin there, and up his cheeks, and down his chest as he struggled with the question.

"And you don't have to answer, like, I know you may not know, or you may not want to tell me-"

"If I'm gonna tell someone, it's gonna be you, Mark."

"Oh."

Silence feel between them then, thick but not . . . unpleasant, and Jack took the time to work on the weird cadence his breath had picked up, getting it back to something relatively normal before he continued.

"It's just . . . I think I . . . shit," Jack spat bitterly as the words failed him, scattered from his brain like leaves in a breeze, and he had to go chasing after them, struggling to find what he had to say while Mark waited patiently beside him. "I want . . . I did like it, and I think that means I'd like more, but I don't . . . I don't . . ."

"You don't know which you'd be?" Mark asked in a soft tone, and Jack sank back into the couch, suddenly feeling tired and small. He'd just . . . known. Exactly what he was freaking out about. Was he that obvious, or was Mark just paying a lot of attention to his struggles?

"Yeah," Jack said, the word coming out in a rush of air, like someone'd gut-punched him, and he'd never felt quite so vulnerable in front of Mark before. Not when he'd first opened up to him, not when he'd cried on his shoulder, not when he'd come apart under his touch. He'd literally been naked in bed with him, and he felt more exposed now in all his clothes, with a couch between them, then he had pressed skin to skin.

He trusted Mark. And he was still terrified.

"Yeah, I don't . . . I have no idea. I have no idea what I want. Like, how can I know I want it but not know what it is?"

The words came out in a rush, sudden and thick, and he hadn't realized how heavy they'd been weighing in the back of his mind, quiet and waiting, until Mark had said it. And in just that one moment he went from okay to just . . . not.

"I mean, that happens all the time," Mark said in an almost conversational tone, his voice still gentle, and Jack turned his head just barely, just enough to peek at him from under thick lashes. "Like, when you're sitting there and you're hungry for something snacky, but you don't know what it is until you start going through all your cabinets, and your fridge, and freezer, and through the cabinets a few more times, and then you see it, and you're like 'ohhhhh, _that's_ what I wanted.'"

A weird noise caught in Jack's throat, and he wasn't sure if it was a snort or a laugh or something annoyed, but his lips pulled up in a little half-smile as he raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"So, what, I'll know it when I see it?"

"Well," Mark started, then paused, his eyes falling back to his crossed arms and pursing his lips as he considered the texture of the couch. "I don't know if it's exactly like that. And I'm not . . . I'm not like an expert on it. But just . . . it doesn't have to be . . . hard."

This time Jack was sure the sound that came out of his mouth was at least eighty exasperation.

"How the fuck is it not hard?"

"No, I mean like . . . you don't have to . . . panic about it? You don't have to freak out. It doesn't have to be something that you _know_ going into this. And you don't have to be one or the other, or either, honestly. You don't have to fit into any specific role."

"You sound like a teenage self-help book."

"Jack . . ."

"I'm not . . . I'm not trying to be bitter about it. I just . . . I don't get how I don't know."

"Because you haven't explored it yet. How do you know what flavor ice cream you like best until you taste them?"

Jack took a slow, shuddering breath, his eyes slipping closed as he let the little fears creep up his throat, spilling one by one, and this one felt like a hefty stone, fighting him each step of the way.

"But . . . what if . . . I don't like that flavor? What if I try it and it's awful? What if-" Fuck these metaphors. "-what if I hate what I like?"

"Jack."

And Mark's voice sounded too painfully honest then, too genuine and open and sure, and Jack snapped his face away without daring to look at him, turn to look out across the recording space instead, taking in the padding on the walls, the familiar color, the couch you'd never know was there from the videos. Anything instead of Mark's honest brown eyes.

"Wanting to get fucked does not make you any less of a man."

Jack felt like he'd slapped him, the starkness of the statement hitting him like a physical force, putting words to something he hadn't even put words to yet himself.

"That's not-"

"It doesn't change who you are."

"I never said-"

"You don't know what you want, but you're scared it might be that. I know. But you don't know until you try, and if you try and you like something, you're not any less of a person for the thing you like. If you want to get fucked six-ways to Sunday, that doesn't stop you from being the same loud-mouthed Irishman you've always been. And if you want to fuck me over this couch, that doesn't mean you're any different then how you are now."

Jack made a noise, somewhere high in his throat, a choked sound around a rush of air, and he heard the little noise Mark made in response, the realization at what Jack was responding to.

"Or anyone. If you want to fuck anyone over a couch. You know what I mean."

"I know," Jack choked out, and he had to set the controller down next to him to stop the way he was twisting it in his hands.

Another silence fell between them, tenser than the others, and Jack struggled to find a steady breath around his pounding heart. His mind was flickering through images faster than he could manage them, quick flashes of Mark over him and Mark under him, too many things to fixate on any one thing, and he could hardly control the onslaught, much less make any kind of sense of it.

"Point is, you can want either, or both, or neither, and it doesn't change a damn thing about you. You're just discovering more about your tastes. You're not . . . you're not becoming a new person."

"Yes, I am," Jack murmured, his voice soft, the words more falling from his lips than being crafted by them, and Mark was quiet for a moment as he seemed to consider the words.

Jack was the first to break this silence.

"Was it always this easy for you?" he asked in a tight voice, and something inside him unspoiled in relief when Mark laughed like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

" _Fuck_ no," he said, leaning further across the couch and letting one hand hang down across the cushion, mere inches from Jack. "Man, I was nineteen and thought my world was ending. I _freaked out_. Like, stupid freaked out. Like, you got all your shit together compared to me. But," Mark paused to turn to Jack, and Jack couldn't stop himself from turning his face towards him, enough to see, expression nervous and gun-shy . . . but hopeful. "It got better. It got easier. I figured out it was stupid to freak out about it, because it didn't really mean anything in the end."

"How can it not mean anything?" Jack asked in an incredulous voice, bright eyes finding Mark's soft gaze and latching on like a man dying of thirst. "How is it just . . . how is it meaningless? It's not, it's-"

"It's not that it's meaningless, it's just . . . it doesn't define you."

"I think society would fucking disagree."

"Who gives a fuck about society?"

"Well, I have to live in it, so."

" _Jesus_ , Jack. Would you listen to yourself for a second? How many times have you talked fans through struggles like that? How many times have you told them it's okay to be themselves, that labels don't mean anything, that you can be anything you want to be?"

How many times was Mark going to say something that felt like a slap to the face?

"It's not-"

"Don't you dare." And Mark's voice was harsher now, harder, and Jack recoiled, a blush working across his face that felt more like shame than embarrassment. "Don't you fucking dare say it's not the same. You know it is. You know you'd be saying the same shit I am if someone came to you with this, so don't give me that bullshit."

Jack's eyes were closed, blocking out everything but the bite of Mark's words as he tried to smooth the ragged emotions that wanted to run rampant through him just then. He was right. He knew he was. If the roles were reversed, if it was Mark freaking out about something as stupid about the exact technicalities of gay sex _after_ he'd accepted that he was okay with the concept in general, he would be telling him the same thing. And he'd mean every word of it.

It wasn't that fucking easy being on the other side, but he wasn't going to be stubborn for stubborn's sake.

"Okay," he finally murmured after yet another thick silence, taking a slow, shaky breath and opening his eyes again, not quite ready to look at Mark, but ready enough to have them open to the world again. "Okay, I . . . I'm trying not to freak out, I swear."

"Good." That same warm hand from earlier came out to rest on his shoulder, and it squeezed sharply, shooting a comforting pain up his neck and down his spine as he felt the heat pouring off of Mark in waves. "You're gonna figure this out, Seán. It's gonna be okay."

"Yeah," he breathed back, and then they were both quiet for a long time, Mark's hand a comforting weight on Jack's shoulder as they sat in the early morning silence, just thinking together, comforting each other by presence alone, and Jack was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for the stupid red-haired man standing next to him.

"So," Mark said, after an untold amount of time had passed, and Jack was finally starting to feel sleep tugging at his limbs. "No panic, huh?"

Jack snorted, and his hands came up in a jokingly exasperated gesture as he rolled his eyes at him.

"Well, I _wasn't_ panicking, but then yeh had to come along and say some shit."

"Hey, hey, hey, don't blame that on me, okay. That was some bottled up shit you needed to get out."

"I- . . . yeah. Yeah, I guess. I didn't really realize it, but yeah."

"Sometimes that shit's there and you don't even know."

"Yeah . . . yeah."

A beat passed, and then Mark spoke again.

"We should go to bed."

Jack sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his face at that. It felt like he'd been awake for days, too much happening in such a short time for it to possibly have fit into a 24 hour period, and he just wanted to sleep until next winter.

"Yeah, we should. And . . . and thank yeh, I guess. For . . . yeh know."

"Of course, Seán. S'what I'm here for, man."

Mark stood, his hand sliding from Jack's shoulder and leaving it cooler than before as he stretched long and hard, popping his back in the process.

"Alright," the American said, with the same confidence of a man launching into his battle plan. "We're gonna go to bed. And we're gonna sleep in as long as we want. And then tomorrow you and me are gonna go somewhere and do something stupid, just the two of us."

The smile that crept up Jack's face at that felt raw and sensitive, but utterly genuine nonetheless.

"I'd like that."

"Good. Now go to bed before we end up passing out on this stupidly comfortable couch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I won't make you wait _two months_ for the next update  >.>
> 
> Also, to settle a panicking beta, any and all errors in dialogue/text conversations are always intentional.


	22. Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [Too Much Is Never Enough by Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bD6sTDH9Zdc) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

It was almost two in the afternoon before Jack woke up, feeling loose and sore from twisting into awkward positions all morning as he readjusted again and again. He got ready in a sluggish daze, brushing his teeth and slapping water across his face in a desperate attempt to chase the fuzziness from his brain, but it wasn't until he'd showered and forced himself into a nice pair of jeans and started looking for an appropriate shirt that his mind really started kicking into gear.

He was going somewhere with Mark today. If Mark still felt like it - he honestly wasn't sure if that had been groggy rambling or an offer for placation after their tense conversation - but he wanted to be ready either way. And with no idea exactly what Mark had planned, he wasn't entirely sure what to wear.

He didn't really have many options for pants besides his jeans. Not that he didn't have a fair selection of those - loose to skinny, old to new. He'd simply picked the nicest out of those he had clean. Didn't really have to be worried about being too fancy in jeans.

But the shirt was a whole different thing. He technically _had_ a button-up with him, but that seemed almost ridiculous to wear, unless Mark specifically wanted to take him to a really nice restaurant. And even then it felt out of place and weird. And he really, _really_ doubted Mark was about to take him to anything fancy. He'd said something "stupid", right? So a regular t-shirt was fine?

Jack pulled out one of the simple black tees he'd brought, considering it a moment before throwing it on. It seemed like the safest bet, and with his black jeans, it made him look sleek and coordinated. Nice enough for whatever Mark had planned, right? It wasn't really important anyway. Wasn't like this was a date or anything.

Jack shook his head, spinning sharply to check himself in the mirror, fixing a few stray strands of wet hair before he headed out the door and down towards the living room. He could hear someone moving around in the kitchen, opening the fridge, but his attention was drawn almost immediately to the living room, where Mark and Tyler sat on the couch, heads together, speaking in low tones. He couldn't see Tyler's face from here, only Mark's, sporting a small frown as he listened to whatever Tyler was saying, and Jack watched the way his nose flared at _something_ before he caught sight of Jack standing in the doorway, and all traces of annoyance fell from his face as he gave him a broad grin.

"Jack!" he called, sitting up sharply and leaning back over the couch to get a better look at him, his eyes bright and mischievous as he grinned up at the Irishman. "Thought you were gonna sleep the whole goddamn day."

"I was tired!" Jack shot back, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he stepped into the room and headed around to lean against one of the armchairs. " _Someone_ kept me up till four in the fuckin' mornin' playing Fortnite, if I remember correctly."

"Oh, how awful. Guess you gotta learn how to say no to people, huh?"

"I can say no to most people. Just some people are _really_ persistent. And needy."

Tyler had turned to watch him approach, eyes unreadable, and it wasn't until Jack let his gaze flicker to his face that he caught the little frown he was wearing.

He looked almost . . . disapproving.

"Okay, well hey, now that you're up, you still down to go on an adventure?"

Jack pulled his eyes away from Tyler, letting his grin split his face again, wide to match Mark's, and something was doing somersaults in his gut at the way the American was looking at him.

God, his stupid face.

Why was he so fucking pretty?

"Sure," he said, his voice only a _little_ high with excitement. "Where we goin'?"

"You'll see when we get there." Mark was standing as he spoke, tossing the pillow he'd had tucked in his lap aside, and stretching hard before he turned to grab his phone from the table next to him. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

"Mark, hey," Tyler said, his voice soft but holding a touch of admonishment. "He just woke up, let him eat something first."

"We can get something on the way," Mark replied in an airy tone, turning to Jack with bright eyes and a brighter smile, waving him on as he started to back out of the room. "Come on, let's go!"

Jack only hesitated a moment, stomach grumbling and mouth dry, and sitting down to have a bit of breakfast before they started their day sounded great. But Mark looked like a kid waiting for his parents to hurry up so they could go to the park or the toy store or something, and Jack realized how much of a sucker he was for that dumb face.

"Alright," he said with a little laugh, offering his arm to the American as he reached out to wrap a big hand around his wrist, and there was that warmth that sent that lovely flush through him again. "But yeh gotta get me coffee."

"Yeah, sure, 'course," Mark said, tugging him along, and Jack spared a quick glance behind him, catching Tyler's frown and the little look of surprise Ethan was wearing from the kitchen doorway, before Mark had dragged him around the corner and down the front hall.

"S'what I'm wearing okay?" Jack asked as he slipped into his black sneakers, his wrist feeling cool as Mark pulled away to put his own shoes on and grab his keys. "I don't need, like, anything particular, do I?"

"Nah, you look great," Mark said, shooting him a quick grin, and Jack wanted to believe he didn't imagine the way his eyes roved over him before he was pulling the door open. "After you, sir."

"Such a gentleman," Jack snorted, and made his way through the door, resisting the urge to touch the American as he passed him and headed towards the little blue car in the driveway.

And then _he_ felt a bit like the kid on his way to the candy shop, fighting the urge to run or skip or dance his way over to the car, to slide his way across the hood or vault across it. Caving to the urge to expend just a little of his ecstatic energy, he couldn't help but bounce on the balls of his feet as crossed the short walk to the vehicle. And when he glanced at Mark over the top of the car, catching his warm brown gaze, and he saw nothing but matching exuberance, that feeling of stupid butterflies erupted in his stomach again. And Jack was pretty sure he'd never crushed this hard in his life.

  


* * *

  


Mark took him to the Starbucks just up the block, insisting on dragging him inside rather than going through the drive-through, and Jack ignored the weird blush that crept up his cheeks when Mark held the door open for him. It wasn't that weird. And the fact that Mark insisted on paying for their coffee and sandwiches wasn't any reason for his blush to get worse.

Of course, it was perfectly reasonable to blush when Mark rested his chin on his hand, leaned over his untouched food, and told him he liked him in black. And perfectly reasonable to hide behind his coffee and mumble a thank you while pretending not to notice how close the American's leg was to his under the table.

When they got back in the car, Mark turned the radio on and flipped around until he found a channel playing a familiar rock ballad, turning it up and tapping his fingers to the beat as Jack leaned against the window and tried to guess where they were going by the unfamiliar sights flipping past his screen. Mark had been decidedly tight-lipped about their destination, and Jack hadn't the foggiest where they might be headed.

By the time he saw the first sign for Ocean Park, he was starting to get suspicious.

"Are we goin' teh the pier?" Jack asked as the current song faded out. He'd been to the Santa Monica pier once, stopping with the guys to eat at the restaurant there, and Mark had mentioned taking him through the pier aquarium one day. But when he turned to glance at the American, the little smirk he was wearing told him that probably wasn't right.

"Kinda," was all he gave him, and Jack huffed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, watching the bright city slip by around them.

They took an exit marked "Venice" and Jack eyed the signs around the ramp, looking for any attraction that might be their destination. He caught mention of the "Venice Fishing Pier", but there didn't seem to be anything of particular interest there, so why . . .

And then Mark turned down a new road, and the ocean was suddenly spread out before them in all its sparkling glory. The scenery change was so jarring and disorienting after the miles and miles of busy highway and crowded buildings that Jack was still struggling to process as pulled into a parking lot only sparsely littered with cars.

"Did . . . are we goin' teh the beach?" Jack managed in an incredulous voice, turning to meet the broad grin plastered across Mark's face as he watched his reaction.

"Yep."

"Mark it's . . . it's November. And you _hate_ the ocean."

"I hate the ocean, not the beach," Mark clarified as he shut the car off and undid his seatbelt, eyes still fixed on Jack's gobsmacked face. "And I never said we're going swimming."

"Wha- . . . what-"

"Come on!" Mark said in the same kind of tone he'd call Chica with, and Jack managed to blink out of his confusion to make a noise of indignation as Mark smacked him in the chest before popping his door opening and nearly bouncing out of the car in his excitement. Jack managed to follow with only a bit of fumbling on his part.

There was a pier on the other side of the parking lot, a few people scattered out around the end of it, but this stretch of the beach was fairly barren, only a few joggers making their way across the sand. Jack watched them go, feeling the L.A. sun soaking into his pale arms as he took in the view around him, green bangs blowing in the sea breeze.

"Okay," Jack said, slipping his hands into his back pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he turned to look back at Mark. "We're at the beach in November. What in God's name-"

And then he watched as Mark pulled two plastic buckets, the kind you bought at the dollar store that were full of shovels and sieves and molds, out of the back of the car, and Jack had that gobsmacked face again.

"No," he breathed around an incredulous giggle. "No way."

"Oh yes, Jackaboy," Mark said back, with a face-splitting grin.

"Are we buildin' fuckin' sand castles?"

"I told you we were gonna do something stupid."

"Oh, god- _yeah_ , this is definitely stupid." But Jack was laughing, even as he said it. Because yeah, maybe it was November, and maybe he didn't want to be shaking sand out of his clothes for the next two days, and maybe this wasn't exactly how he'd been picturing his day, but fuck it. It was a stereotypical sunny day for L.A., probably in the low 20's (what was that, 70's in stupid American?), and he was gonna have Mark all to himself for however long it took them build these stupid things under the bright sunlight that made Mark's skin look like honey.

"I mean," Mark said with a shrug, turning a milder expression on him. "We could do something else if you prefered. I just figured, you know, it was something stupid, and it's a nice day, and you don't get to enjoy a good American beach very often-"

Jack bounced across the asphalt between them to snatch one of the buckets out of his hands with a stupid grin of his own.

"I'm gonna put yer dumb American castle to shame, Marky."

Mark grinned with all the humility of his people.

"We'll see about that, you little Irish bastard."

  


* * *

  


"You're supposed to be building a castle, not a lumpy mountain."

"Shut up! S'alot harder than it looks, okay?"

Jack scraped the mess of damp sand back into his bucket, packing it in with a determined look on his face as Mark snickered at him. They'd been at it for almost twenty minutes now, Mark's castle starting to take shape, and while it was a bit simple and repetitive - mostly lines of molded wall around a big bucket-shaped base - it was at least staying together. Jack's, on the other hand, was more artistic but significantly less . . . stable.

"Have you never built a sand castle?" Mark asked with a laugh as Jack flipped his bucket over again, slamming it into the little area he'd cleared out and hoping it was gonna come out properly this time.

" _Yeah_ , when I was a _kid_ ," Jack shot back, narrowing his eyes as he shifted the bucket in his hands, testing its weight and knowing there was still too much sand stuck to the walls. "Not like I practice this shit, like _some_ people."

Mark snorted. "Yeah, I'm just out here practicing my sand castle skills every weekend, waiting for the day I can best you in the ultimate test of manly abilities - _architecture_." He punctuated the words with jazz hands. _Jazz hands_.

Jack was gonna sit here until he'd built the fucking Taj Mahal. Or he was gonna kill him. Whichever one turned out to be easier.

"I swear to god, Mark." But he was laughing around the warning, the sound turning into an exasperated groan as he pulled the bucket back only to watch the sand crumble once more. "What the fuck is the trick to this?"

"Oh my god, come here," Mark said with a laugh, stumbling to his feet and dusting the sand from his knees before he made his way carefully around his little masterpiece towards where Jack was kneeling, staring fixated at his own hands as he smoothed out his base once more.

"It's like fuckin' magic, I swe-" and then he cut himself off with a little gasp as he felt Mark's arms wrap around him as he sank to his knees behind the Irishman.

"It's all about the mixture," Mark said in a conversational tone, but the sound of his baritone voice so close to his ear sent goosebumps crawling across Jack's skin, and he could only watch in mute shock as the American deftly plucked the bucket from his hands, reaching for the jug they'd been using for water. "And you gotta know how to smack it, but that comes later."

Jack only vaguely heard what he was saying as he watched sunkissed hands mixing water into a pile of sand, kneading it almost like dough. He was much more aware of the heat pouring into his back, and around his arms, and how very unnecessarily close Mark was just then.

This wasn't a friendly distance to put between them. This wasn't a _friendly_ way to help him build a sand castle. This was . . . this was intimate. Not even flirty. This was the cutesy shit you pulled with your girlfriend when you were trying to-

"Are you trying to get laid?" Jack spluttered, the words tumbling out before he'd even thought them through, and he felt a blush creep up his cheeks as Mark choked and laughed, his hands stilling in the sand as he turned his face away so he wasn't laughing right in Jack's ear.

"Jeez, is that all it takes?" Mark asked, practically giggling as he pressed a little closer. His breath was warm against the crook of his neck as he turned back, and then he was turning further to talk right into Jack's ear. "Didn't realize I just had to recreate that scene from _Ghost_."

"Oh god, _stop that_ ," Jack hissed, pulling away sharply, though there was no real bite to his words. His ears were probably bright red by this point, and he was sure Mark wouldn't miss that fact. "We're in public, yeh fuck."

"I mean, not really," Mark said in a mild tone, but he pulled back a little nonetheless. He didn't go so far as to release him, but Jack would take the little victory. He was still having trouble processing how he felt about this, and Mark murmuring in his ear wasn't helping.

But Mark was right. They weren't exactly under the public eye. The American had surprised him when they got to the beach, dragging him under the pier to set up their little building ground with the concrete and wood high above, far enough back that they were mostly hidden from any but the occasional jogger. It wasn't like they were on display for the world. And it wasn't like they were doing anything they needed to be ashamed of.

Right. Yeah. This was . . . okay.

"I can move if you want me to, though," Mark told him, his voice still light and conversational, but Jack saw the way his hands slowed in the sand, still working it over, but without the same zest he'd had when he first started.

Did that mean Mark wanted to stay like this? Well . . . he wouldn't have done this in the first place if he hadn't wanted to. Why did he want to? _Was_ he trying to get laid? Or did he just want to be close? Or was he trying to get Jack comfortable with it? Or was he teasing him? Or had it been completely innocent when he did it, and Jack was overthinking things again?

Did he really mind the position? Mark was warm against his back, and Jack wanted to sink into that heat, to lean back and use him like a heated chair, and let the American hold him up as he showed him how to build sand castles. So there was that. He was also uncomfortably aware of how much this made him "the girl", but he was trying not to think about that too much.

"Show me how teh fuckin' do this," Jack said with a wave of his hand towards the bucket Mark had slowly started filling, and he could almost feel Mark's smile against his skin.

Mark started talking again almost immediately, his hands working quick and skilled over his tools as he started explaining the process. His tone was light, conversational, a little excited like he was eager to teach Jack a thing or two about the art of sand castle design, and Jack watched with rapt attention, slowly starting to relax in his arms.

This wasn't so weird. He was making it weirder in his head, he was pretty sure. If he just thought about the sensation, he liked it. And he liked Mark being close, or at least the idea that Mark _wanted_ to be close. And he'd had girlfriend's hug him from behind plenty before, so the action itself wasn't necessarily foreign. So . . . yeah, this was fine. Good even. Nice. He was just overthinking. Again.

"Now slamming it down is important and all," Mark was saying, the sound reverberating through Jack's chest. "But the real magic is in making sure it's all separated before you pull away. So you can kind of smack the top of it, you know, to dislodge it more, or you can kind of shake it a bit, but if you've got the consistency right, you shouldn't have to do much to get it loose."

Jack watched as Mark carefully pulled the bucket up away from a perfect, smooth tower, sand clinging to his fingers as he set the bucket aside and ran his hand over the top to smooth out the shape.

"And _that's_ how you build a proper sand castle."

Jack snorted at the smugness in his tone, a mild thought about classic American ego running through his brain before it was replaced with a thought about classic _Mark_ ego, and he had to resist the urge to snort a second time. Mark was dusting his hands, clapping them together harshly to rid them of their sandy coating as he made a contented noise deep in his chest, and Jack liked the way it felt as it rumbled against his back.

"Thank yeh fer the lesson," Jack said in an only mildly teasing tone as he reached out to grab the bucket from where Mark had left it, mostly to have something to do with his hands. But he almost dropped it again as he felt Mark shift behind him.

His hands now free, Mark seemed to think the best place for them was wrapped around Jack's middle, holding him in a light grip as he tucked his chin over his shoulder and turned his head just enough to murmur in his ear.

"Now you try."

Jack couldn't help the little shiver of excitement that ran through him just then. He could feel the heat of Mark's breath wash across his neck and behind his ear, could feel the warmth of his strong arms and sturdy body pressed around him, and flashes of old fantasies were flitting through his head unwanted as he tried to control his breathing.

Okay, so now he was sure that turned him on at least. He didn't particularly want to be turned on on the beach under some pier, but cool to know. His heart was picking up quick in his chest, and he struggled to focus on the bucket in his hands and the demonstration Mark had just given him, but even still it took him several seconds before he managed to make himself move.

"Water first," Mark told him, voice lower but not pointed directly in his ear anymore, and Jack took a deep breath before leaning forward to grab the water jug from where the American had left it. "Now wet the sand and mix it up. You want it to be fairly wet, but not enough that you could squeeze any water out."

Jack's hands shook a little as he tried to focus on the little pile of sand before him, fingers digging into the sand and kneading the way he'd seen Mark do. Blood was starting to rush in his ears as he felt Mark shift a little, scoot just a little closer, and Jack wondered how sandy they were going to be by the end of this, because he was pretty sure there was sand in his pockets by this point.

"Like this?" he asked, and his voice was only a little shaky. One of Mark's hands left his waist to reach out and grab a handful of the concoction, squeezing it before shaking his head against the Irishman's shoulder.

"Nah, that's a little too wet. Mix some dry sand in there."

Jack nodded mutely and focused on his work and his steady breathing and Mark's steady breathing behind him. He was too warm. He swore the man was like a fucking hot water bottle or something, and god it wasn't fair, the heat seeping through his shirt to spark little fires in his skin that were traveling down to pool below his gut, and he did not need that right now.

But this was just . . . it was too much like his fantasies. Like that first fantasy he'd had, sitting in his hotel room all that time ago, when he'd imagined the pillow behind him was the American, sitting just like this, holding him, watching him as he stroked himself to a shameful oblivion, and it'd been so easy to imagine, but _god_ , this was so real and-

_Get yer mind outta the fuckin' gutter,_ he told himself bitterly, gritting his teeth as he shoved those thoughts out of his mind and tried to focus on the task in front of him. He was scooping handfuls of his mixture into the bucket now in an almost mindless gesture, moving mechanically as his body took over while his mind was stuck on overdrive, and he wasn't even sure if he'd gotten it right this time, but it was going to have to fucking do.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Jack packed the sand in, Mark simply watching over his shoulder, head tilted just a little to the side, as if he was going to lean his cheek against the other's but never getting quite that close. It wasn't until Jack was smoothing out the bucket, filled to the brim, that Mark finally spoke again.

"Did you want me to move?"

His voice was soft and gentle, though he didn't turn towards Jack to speak this time, instead keeping his eyes on Jack's hands, and Jack paused in his work.

"We could switch if you prefer. You know, if this makes you uncomfortable. Or we could just sit like normal people. Or I could sit in your lap and crush you." Jack snorted at that, almost giggling a little as the tension in him broke in thin lines. "I mean, we've got options. You don't have to stay like this if it's not, like . . . if you're not comfortable."

Silence stretched for a moment as Jack considered that. He knew Mark would happily trade with him, and probably not feel in the least bit weird about it. He'd already set this precedent of being okay with whatever Jack wanted. Or, at least so far as Jack exploring this new territory. So he knew he could probably ask for whatever he wanted just now and Mark would give it to him. And it wouldn't be the least bit weird.

But . . . Mark had started like this, so . . . did that mean this was what he preferred? He hadn't actually stopped to think about that much yet. Mark's preferences. If this went the way he wanted, how would he want it? Did his wanting to be behind Jack like this mean he wanted to be the . . . what did you call it? The guy? Or the . . . the dominant, or . . . whatever? Or was this just the easiest position for him to get this close to him?

Maybe he was just overthinking things again. But that had opened a whole new train of thought he hadn't explored before. Not only in what he preferred, but in what he had done. How experienced was he? And if he'd actually . . . _done_ it with a guy before, which had he been? What was his first time like? Why did thinking about either option have his heart racing like a madman in his chest?

"I'm okay," Jack managed finally, trying to push those thoughts back just like the others, tucking them away to consider later, because now was not the time. He didn't completely manage. But he tried. "I mean, I'm good with this. If this is what yeh want."

"Well, it's not really about what I want," Mark started with a little laugh, but Jack cut him off before he could continue.

"Yeah it is."

Mark seemed to wince a little at that. "No, I mean, I'm happy to-"

"I know yeh are. But yer not like a fuckin' blow-up doll or somethin'. Just 'cause yer tryin' teh help me doesn't mean yeh don't get a say."

"Okay, okay," Mark laughed, and his arms wrapped a little tighter around his waist as he pressed in against his back, and this time, Jack really could feel him smile against the skin of his shoulder. "Well, I'm happy with this. Unless you have another preference."

"Do _you_ have a preference?" Jack asked suddenly, and his voice sounded just a little too . . . intense. Curious, but a little desperate. Like he needed to know. Like he was asking more than what this conversation had been about. And maybe he was.

"Not tellin'," Mark said, his voice sounding teasing and haughty, and Jack tensed in his arms, turning to shoot him a look that was half playful amusement and half genuine frustration.

"Mark . . ."

"Nope. Not telling."

"Mark, come on, would yeh just . . . fuckin' . . ."

"Okay, look," Mark said, and his voice softened a little, a smile playing around the edges of his lips as he pulled away a little to look at Jack properly. "One, I know what you're asking. And I'm not telling you. Because two, if I told you that I preferred one way or another, you're going to feel obligated to be the opposite."

"I wouldn't-"

"Yes you would. You're just that kind of person. If I said I wanted to top, you'd start thinking of yourself as the bottom because you want me to be happy with all this. And _the whole point_ is for you to figure this shit out. So that completely ruins the whole thing."

One of his thumbs swept out across Jack's stomach through his shirt, rubbing soothing circles there as Jack watched his eyes crinkle up as the American grinned at him. There was a pause as Jack considered that, his lips pressed in a tight line as he considered arguing. He wanted to know. More than that, he wanted to know how Mark had come to figure it out, because maybe then he'd have a better idea of how he was going to figure this shit. But before he could think on it further, Mark was cocking his head and asking him a question.

"What do you think I am?"

Jack choked on a weird noise, something between a laugh and a groan, and turned away to hide the way his cheeks tinged pink.

"M'not tellin'," he chanted back, the words riding the line between playful and snippy, and he heard Mark groan in his ear.

"You ass," he bitched, but the arms around his stomach gave him a little squeeze that felt more reassuring than anything. "Now you're just being petty."

"Is that a double standard I hear there, Mr. Fischbach?" Jack shot back, and he was grinning a little around the words, and the giddy feeling spreading from the way Mark was tucking himself close again as Jack turned his attention back to his sand castle. "You don't have teh tell, but I do? 'N here I thought you were a gentleman."

"I'll show you a fucking gentleman," Mark growled in his ear, and his hands wrapped further to reach his sides, running dancing fingers up and down his skin through his shirt, and Jack jerked harshly in his grip.

"Mark, no, yeh little shit-"

"Is this gentlemanly enough for you?"

"Stop with the fuckin' tickling- hey!"

Jack was laughing now, jerking his arm back to jab at Mark and trying desperately to escape his grip. One leg shot out, taking a chunk out of Mark's carefully constructed sand tower, and he managed to slip out of his arms, crawling barely a meter away before Mark was on him again, flipping him so he was on his back as his hands went back to his sides.

"Stop! A-ah! Mark, I swear, stop, oh my god, I'm gonna kick yeh right in the fuckin' balls, I swear-"

But then Mark was slinging a leg over him and sitting squarely over his lap, forcing the breath out of him as he pinned him to the ground and snaked his hands under his shirt to continue his onslaught. And that was about when Jack realized he was still sporting a half-chub from his stupid rampaging fantasies and the feeling of Mark wrapped around him.

He'd figured it would have been gone by this point. And there was no way Mark didn't notice it, not with how he was sitting, unless he somehow convinced himself it was actually his phone in his pocket. But if the American noticed anything, he didn't mention it, only grinning down at the green-haired man as he continued his torture.

"Mark, please, _please_ , I'm so ticklish, I'm gonna hurt you, I swear, stop, god, I'm gonna punch yeh, fuckin' stop."

He was breathless and laughing and there were tears in his eyes when Mark finally stopped, hands falling still to grip gently at his waist as he grinned down at him with that wolfish smile of his. Jack gasped, hair falling in messy strands across his face as he stared up at the wooden struts of the pier above them, just trying to get his breath back.

When he finally managed to get it together, he picked his head up to look up at Mark, still grinning at him with that stupid cocky expression of his, and Jack grinned back at him.

"So is this yer preference?" he asked with a snort, and watched Mark roll his eyes - before he rolled his hips, pressing down against Jack's clothed dick.

"Maybe," Mark said with a smirk, and Jack's hands came out to grip his hips harshly, fingers biting at him even through his jeans as he made a choked sound in the back of his throat.

"Fucking hell- _we are still in public,_ " he hissed to the American, head whipping to the side to check for joggers. The beach around them was mercifully empty, but that didn't stop Jack's heart from trying to strangle him.

"Only a little," Mark said with a shrug, that stupid grin still plastered across his face. His eyes were bright, sparkling with mischief, before he turned his head to look behind them, eyes coming up as he seemed to realize something. He looked back to Jack with a tentative kind of excitement. "Hey . . ."

Jack looked up at him, something twisting in gut and sparking that fire lower again as he took in the sight of the man above him. There were thin stripes of sunlight coming down through the slats above, streaking across his face and the little swathe of skin he could see where his collar was pulled away from his neck. He was wearing that stupid black henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and Jack could see subtle veins in his forearms before they disappeared under his shirt, and he was just grinning at him, bright and pretty and focused.

And he was shifting in his lap again, and if Mark didn't stop that mess, Jack was going to be sporting more than a little half-chub.

"Do you wanna try something?"

Jack's stomach flipped harshly at that. Just the way he said it, the way his voice twisted around the words with this kind of wicked giddiness, had Jack swallowing back a groan, and he licked his lips before he answered.

"Like what?"

Mark grinned wider, and then he was swinging himself off of Jack's lap, offering him a hand as he brought himself back to his feet. Jack took it with only a moment's hesitation, letting the man drag him up. And then he was dragging him back up the beach, following the underside of the pier as he led him up to where the pier met the beach, and Jack had to duck under a low concrete overhang as Mark pulled him into a little alcove he hadn't noticed before.

It was tucked away under one of the pier's supports, a concrete wall blocking off the underside of the pier from the rest of the beach, and providing a little nook hidden from prying eyes. And Jack felt his stomach flip again at the realization that Mark had just taken him somewhere . . . private.

Mark pushed him into the little space, shoving him back into the corner and glancing over his shoulder, inspecting the space they had with a little grin. And then he was turning back to look at Jack with those bright chocolate eyes, and Jack forgot how to breathe.

"Want a blowjob?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, Poem's returned to her cockteasing ways >.>


	23. Boardwalk*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [Under the Boardwalk by The Drifters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPEqRMVnZNU) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

It literally felt like he'd been gut-punched, his breath exploding out of him as he gaped at the American with wide eyes, words completely failing him. Mark could be crude - he'd come to expect that - and he'd known his dragging him back here had probably been for something like this. But to just _say it_ like that . . . 

"Wha- . . . _what?_ "

"Do you want a blowjob?" Mark asked again, as if Jack's exclamation had anything to do with him not being able to hear him.

" _Here?_ " Jack asked incredulously, his voice breaking harshly over the word, and Mark was laughing, though it looked like he was trying to keep it under control.

"Yeah, here. No one can see, and we don't have to wait for Tyler and Ethan to go to bed."

He was pressing closer, his hands slipping under Jack's shirt again, fingers sliding slowly up his sides, and Jack resisted the urge to shudder as he leaned back against the wooden support behind him.

"I . . . what if-"

"No one's gonna come," Mark said, and he was speaking lower, leaning in closer, pulling him near flush against him as he grinned. "Come on, we've been here like an hour and we've seen maybe a dozen people."

"Yeah, but . . ." Jack was starting to lose his train of thought as Mark pressed forward, his mouth ghosting over his neck and his hands had trailed down to grip his hips, pressing his thumbs against the bone through his jeans.

"Come on, Jack," he almost whined, his voice a strange mix between playful and sexy and Jack couldn't seem to focus on anything as Mark hooked his fingers into the band of his jeans, tugging a little as his breath washed against his neck. "Lemme show you what it's like."

"What's it like?" Jack breathed, not really aware of the words, his mouth moving without his consent.

"Pretty much the same," Mark said with amusement, grinning against Jack's neck as he nipped lightly at the sensitive skin there. "Just you're looking down at a guy instead of a girl."

"Really?" he asked with a breathy laugh, and Mark pulled back to look at him, still pressed against him from the waist down.

"Yeah. I mean, unless I start rubbing my face on it, then you might notice the facial hair, but besides that."

Why did that mental image send a shot of electricity straight to his groin?

" _Oh_."

Mark's smile looked like it was about to split his face in half.

"Wanna see?"

And then he was sinking down in front of Jack, falling to his knees as his hands came out to tug at his jeans again, and Jack was choking again, his hands going to grip harshly at his shoulders.

Mark was on his knees. Offering him a blow job. With that stupid wolfish smirk. Holy shit. Holy _shit_. He was not ready for this.

Mark held Jack's gaze as he slowly leaned in, opening his mouth and scraping his teeth against his jeans over one hip, putting enough pressure that he could feel the bite against the sensitive skin there, and Jack couldn't help but jerk against the feeling.

"You can tell me to stop," Mark murmured, and he was looking at him with those bright, open eyes again, and Jack was having trouble holding his gaze. "Like, any time. Just say stop, and I'll stop. But you're gonna have to say it, 'cause otherwise, I'm gonna blow you like you've never been blown before."

" _Fuckin' hell._ "

Mark laughed, and he sounded almost giddy as he leaned forward again to run his mouth across the hardening mass through his jeans. Jack's breath hitched as he brought one hand up to grip lightly at his messy red hair, and the blood was rushing in his ears now, loud, replacing the sound of the waves striking on the shore.

For a moment, Mark just stayed like that, mouthing at his erection through the thick denim, eyes sliding shut as he worked against him so slowly. His fingers were pressing into his hips, holding him against the wooden support behind him, and his hair was slipping down to fall across his eyes. _Fuck_ , that was not something he'd been prepared to see. And god, he was going to see so much more if Mark had his way.

Mark was literally about to give him a blowie. _Mark_ was about to suck his-

Jack's breath caught in his throat as Mark's eyes flashed back up to him, and a wicked smirk curled up his face, still pressed against his jeans. He pulled away slowly, still holding eye contact, as the hands at his hips moved in to tug at the button of his jeans, taking his time as he worked it open. And then he was pulling at his fly, and his fingers were hooking around the hem to pull his jeans down and out of the way, and Jack was fighting back the sound in the back of his throat that felt suspiciously like a whimper.

When his fingers came up to tug at his boxers, Jack jerked his head up, eyes turning to the wood not so far above them that marked the start of the pier. He needed just a second, just a second before he had to look at that, just a second before he had to reprogram his brain to accept that image as being real. He'd managed Mark naked, but that had been surreal, and all Mark, his eyes fixed on taking him in, not putting the two of them together. But the image about to be presented to him was just Mark's face and his dick, and that seemed a lot harder to process somehow.

Jack felt the moment the cool ocean breeze hit his rising shaft, a shiver running through him at the sensation and what it meant. Mark didn't touch him right away, just shimmied his jeans and boxers down out of the way and made little adjustments until he was happy, and Jack could feel the blush working hot across his cheeks and down his neck as he swallowed. Was he just looking at it? Or was adjusting something? Or was he having second thoughts? Or-

And then there were fingers trailing along the underside of his shaft, and he didn't really care anymore.

He still wasn't at full mast - the anxiety of getting caught both helping to fuel his heart rate and stopping him from fully immersing in the moment - but the feeling of a set of fingers ghosting along his length, feather light touches that were more teasing then anything, was enough to get him headed in that direction. Jack let his head fall back fully against the wooden support behind him, groaning as he moved his hands down to slip under the open collar of Mark's shirt and grip at his bare shoulders.

The warmth against his palms helped to ground him as the American finally wrapped his fingers in a loose ring around his shaft and gave him a slow, delicate stroke. Still soft and teasing, and enough to make Jack want to yank at his stupid red hair in frustration, but instead he just bit his fingers a little tighter into Mark's flesh and tucked his lip under his teeth. Of course, that wasn't enough to stop the shaky groan he let out when he felt lips ghost across the side of his shaft, and no, he needed to see this.

Blue eyes fell, taking in the concrete and the wood and the sand around him before the sight of shocking red hair pressed too close to him had his stomach doing flips. There was that familiar olive face, dark lashes and rough stubble, fingers wrapped around an equally familiar erection, and Mark was running thin lips along the side with a look of concentration that made Jack's knees feel weak.

That was something he'd never expected to see in his life. And just a few months ago, that was something he'd never have expected to turn him on half so bad as it did.

His cock jerked in Mark's grasp, and Jack could see the way he smirked at that, pulling back a little to get a better grip, wrapping more fingers around it to form a little sleeve, and giving it a slow, experimental tug. And then, when Jack moaned quietly in response, his fingers massaging at his shoulders in gratitude, Mark gave him another, eyes fixed on the shaft in front of him.

"Does it hurt if I . . ." Mark started, and trailed off as he pressed around his dick, pressing back to pull at the foreskin, like he wanted to pull it back, and Jack shuddered one of his hands coming up to cup Mark's neck instead, and he was fighting the urge to look up at the pier again.

"N-no, you can . . . it'll come back on its own when I get . . . yeh know, when I get hard enough." Jack was already breathing heavy around the words, and he wished he could get that under control. He sounded like some slutty date, moaning before they'd even gotten to anything, but he was having so much trouble focusing with the idea of Mark on his knees and the possibility of getting caught and the unexpectedness of this new situation. It was enough to have him disoriented and helpless against Mark's teasing. And he wanted to tell him he wasn't this easy, but he was mostly just amazed he could still form sentences at this point. "You can, it's just . . . ah, it's just sensitive."

Mark's eyes were fixated on the hardening mass in his hand as he pulled back a little further, the tip of his crown just visible as he stroked it smoothly down, and Jack's gut was clenching deliciously at the intensity of his eyes. He was just staring at his dick like it was the only thing worth staring at, hungry and bright, and suddenly Jack's brain was feeding him images of Mark's eyes fixed on his own like that as Jack pushed into his velvety mouth.

His cock jerked in Mark's hand again, harder this time, and the skin was tight around the head as the blood rushed in, aching with the force of it, and Jack had to twist the hand at his neck into his hair as Mark pulled the skin back out of the way, baring him to the air.

And then Jack watched as Mark leaned forward to run his tongue over the underside of his newly exposed head, and there was no holding back that whimper in his throat this time.

"That is sensitive, isn't it?" Mark asked with a little grin, and he glanced up as he spoke, locking brown eyes with blue and catching the breath in Jack's throat. He held his gaze as he leaned forward to repeat the action, watching Jack's face with the ghost of a smile as he ran his tongue messily across his crown, and Jack gave him the groan he was obviously looking for, the sound rumbling through his chest as he let his eyes close for a moment and just enjoyed the feeling.

"Y-yeah," he breathed, his other hand leaving Mark's shirt to join the first in his hair, holding with a light grip as his thumbs pressed little circles behind his ears.

"You gonna be able to handle it down my throat?"

Jack jerked the hands in his hair, tugging a little harshly and earning a sound of indignation from the red-haired man below him.

" _Stop that_ ," he hissed, shutting his eyes tighter as he felt Mark's mouth close in a little circle around his head, and he was turning his chin up to face the pier again as he bit back a groan.

"What, you don't wanna talk about your dick down my throat?" he said in that stupid snarky tone of his. He'd pulled off just long enough to speak, before he was wrapping his lips around him again, pushing forward to pop them around his crown and give him a light suck. Jack risked a glance down, watching the way Mark's cheeks hollowed out around him as the pressure sent rushes of warm pleasure into that little pool in his gut.

That was weird, like seeing Mark naked last night had been weird, only now it was Mark's very familiar face with his lips around Jack's dick, and he was sucking on it like he was paid for it, leaning forward to slide more into his mouth and swiping his tongue across the vein on the underside. It was weird and it was dirty and it was sinful, and Jack wanted to get a better grip on his hair and see just how much Mark could hold up on his taunting.

"I'd rather it _be_ down yer throat," Jack shot back, but his attempt at bravado was weak at best, the way his voice cracked over the words giving him away. Mark could hear it, of course, and when his eyes flashed up to catch his gaze again, there was mischief and mirth and something else there that had Jack's toes curling in his shoes.

Instead of answering, Mark shuffled a little closer, one hand gripping around Jack's hip while the other wrapped around the base of his dick and held him steady as he took him deeper. Jack made a broken noise in the back of his throat as he felt Mark's tongue slide along his length, the warm wetness of his mouth enveloping him in a tight heat, and he tried not to tug too hard on his hair, releasing one set of fingers to run them soothingly through the American's messy locks, almost like an apology as the other hand tightened.

But if Mark minded, he didn't show it. He was moving now, picking up a slow, agonizing rhythm as he worked over his length. He was taking him about half way, his hand stroking what he couldn't reach, and each drag of his wet lips washed waves of pleasure through Jack that had him groaning softly on each exhale.

And then Mark looked up at him again, chocolate eyes catching his as he pushed farther down, taking more, and Jack couldn't help but tug at his hair as he felt himself press against the back of his throat.

It was warm and wet and soft and constricting, and Mark was staring up at him, familiar eyes watching him as he angled his face up to open his throat, and Jack was already panting as he felt him push that much farther.

" _Fuck_ ," Jack cursed emphatically before Mark made a small choked noise and pulled back, his hand taking over to stroke his wet shaft as he caught his breath.

"See?" Mark asked in a rough voice, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips. "Same thing, right?"

"I don't- oh _fuck_ ," Jack tried to say, his voice breaking as Mark took him in his mouth again, pressing down to engulf his length in wet heat, and Jack could see the way tears pricked in his eyes as he forced him further down his throat. "Mark, slower, _fuck_ , how are yeh _doing_ that?"

Mark pulled off again with a pop, hand stroking over him as he grinned up at the Irishman.

"I have basically no gag reflex," he told him with a wolfish smirk, and Jack shuddered as he felt his warm hand sliding across his shaft, drawing little noises from him as Mark leaned forward to flick a teasing kitten lick over the head. "Fun fact."

"Of fuckin' course yeh don't," Jack hissed through gritted teeth. Of course Mark would be stupidly good at blowjobs. Why wouldn't he? He was obviously some form of stupid sex god, come down to grace the mere mortals, and maybe that was a stupid conclusion to draw after a handy and some head, but _fuck_ , the things he did with his _tongue_.

Mark laughed before sucking his length back down, making a pleased noise deep in his chest as he bobbed and Jack could feel the vibrations shooting deliciously through him. He'd slowed down, but that only meant he had more time to create that perfect vacuum as he drew back, more time to work his tongue in wicked ways, and Jack was pretty sure his legs would have given out by now if he wasn't resting against the old weather-worn wood behind him.

When Mark pressed far enough that he could actually _feel_ his dick sliding down his throat, Jack almost couldn't take it - the urge to buck into the wet passage so strong that he could actually feel his thighs trembling with the effort to resist. Mark had his head tilted up again, opening his throat as he pulled at Jack's hips, urging him forward, and his brown eyes were fixed on his face again, warm and intense, and Jack couldn't look away as that spring started coiling in his gut.

When Mark pulled back the next time, he was breathless, his eyes watering and his mouth hanging open as he panted, never breaking eye contact. One hand was still grasping his cock, jerking him smoothly as he caught his breath. And then Jack's eyes were following the other hand as it snaked down to press against the tent in his jeans.

" _Fuck_ ," the American whined, his voice sounding about as fucked as Jack's had as his tongue flicked out to lick already wet lips. Jack watched the slick muscle swipe across the bright red skin, and his shaft _ached_ with how bad he wanted to cum.

"Touch yerself," Jack groaned, and he could feel the heat spreading across his cheeks as the words left his lips. He hadn't even really meant to say it. They just sort of fell out when he realized how _badly_ he wanted to see that. How much he wanted to see Mark's hands around his dick as he buried Jack to the hilt in his mouth.

He could see the way Mark's stomach tensed hard at the words, even under his shirt, and his mouth fell a little wider as he made a choked noise in the back of his throat. Mark released his hold on Jack's length and moved to fumble with his button and fly, shoving the fabric out of the way with almost frantic movements, before leaning forward to wrap his lips around his cock again.

And never once did he break eye contact. He was just staring up at him, open and bright and beautiful, almost vulnerable with the earnestness of his gaze, and something was coiling hot in his chest along with the heat in his gut.

The angle was awkward, but if he tilted his head to the side, he could watch Mark's hand stroking his own erection, precum shiny across the tip as he slid it across his length. His stomach was tensing with each stroke, and he was groaning around Jack, sending perfect vibrations through him, and he wasn't going to last long like this.

"Fuck, Mark, that's- . . . _fuck_ , yeh feel good, yeh _look_ good, _shit_." He caught his lip between his teeth, biting back the embarrassing noises he wanted to make, whimpering behind his teeth before the words came tumbling out of his mouth again as he got closer and closer. "Yer so fuckin' pretty like this, shit, n'yer mouth is so, fuck, it's so warm and that thing yeh do with yer tongue-"

And then Mark did that thing he did with his tongue, and Jack groaned, his head wanting to fall back with the pleasure of it, but he couldn't break the gaze he'd been caught in.

"Fuck, _that_ , I can't, Mark, _fuck_." His hands had spread across Mark's face, one hand still curling in his hair, palm against his ear as the other cupped Mark's cheek, thumb rubbing little circles into his stubbled skin as his hips start to buck just a little. "I'm close, shit, _shit_."

Mark pulled back sharply, his hand taking over from his mouth to jerk him rough and fast, turning his length to the side and giving Jack the perfect view of the American's hand stroking over his own dripping length.

And then Jack was cumming, his whole body strained to a peak, and Mark's hand had released his own cock in favor of pressing his palm against Jack's crown, catching the spilled seed as Jack shuddered and jerked in his hand. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him, and he had to release Mark's face to grip desperately at the support behind him, his legs so weak he was almost sure he was going to fall.

Jack's eyes had been forced closed by the intensity of it, and he opened them again just in time to watch Mark pull his cum-covered hand away, wrapping it around his own leaking member again and stroking himself roughly with the new lubricant. His mouth was still open, lips a red mess and cheeks tinged pink, as he looked up at Jack from his knees, panting desperately, and if Jack hadn't literally just cum he might have been hard again from that sight alone.

Jack was still panting from his orgasm when Mark suddenly leaned forward to bury his face in Jack's thigh, a little whine in his throat, before his whole body tensed and he groaned Jack's name against his milky skin, shuddering as his own release took him.

They stayed like that for a long minute, both struggling to catch their breath again as the sound of waves crashing in the distance echoed around them. Jack had brought one of his hands back up to tangle softly in Mark's hair, running his fingers gently through it in an almost affectionate gesture, and Mark pressed a little closer as he continued.

Finally, Mark turned to press a quick kiss into the inside of his thigh before he pulled back and looked up with a grin.

"How was that?"

Jack let out a broken laugh, bringing a shaky hand up to push the hair from his eyes and opening his mouth to answer - before the sound of squealing above him cut him off.

Jack's eyes jerked up to look at the pier above him, watching in sudden choking terror as the sound of pounding feet against wood announced the two dark shapes before they were darting over them, the spaces between the slats just wide enough for Jack to see sneakers and baggy hoodies, and _fuck_ there were people running around on the pier just a few meters above where he'd just gotten a blowjob.

Something twisted harshly in Jack's gut, and the euphoria started to ebb in the face of a rising . . . almost horror. He'd gotten so caught up in the moment, so fixated on what Mark had been doing, that he'd completely forgotten where they were. Completely forgotten they were in public, and anyone could have walked up on them, or heard them from the boardwalk above, and _oh god_ , he'd been talking, and he'd said stupid shit, and how loud had he been-

"Hey, hey," Mark said suddenly, his hands darting out to hover in the air to either side of Jack, and the Irishman realized he must look a bit like a rabbit about to dart across the road. "It's cool, breathe, no one heard us, beach is still clear, it's cool."

He was grinning up at him, reassuring smile hidden in his almost goofy expression, and Jack took a slow breath, willing his heart to move back to his chest and out of his throat. His eyes darted up again once, looking out through the slats, as if he was expecting there to be a pair of eyes somewhere along there, watching him with disapproval, before he let out a sigh and moved to tuck himself back into his pants.

"Oh, wait, here, um," Mark stopped him, hands coming up but not touching him as he gave him an awkward look. "Uh, I've got a handkerchief if you want in my back pocket, but my hands are a little . . . uhh . . ."

Jack blushed, taking in the mess that was Mark's hands and looking away with an awkward laugh. "Um. Yeah. Hold on."

Mark leaned forward, popping forward on his knees to give him the space he needed, and Jack swallowed before leaning forward to reach for the big denim pockets.

"Which one is it?" Jack asked as he hesitated, strangely nervous to put his hands in such an intimate place as a _pocket_. Which was ridiculous.

"I don't remember," Mark told him, and Jack rolled his eyes as he patted one side, looking for a lump.

"Yeh don't remember, or yer lookin' fer a reason fer me teh touch yer ass?"

"Can't it be both?"

Jack snorted as he found the irregularity he was looking for, and reached inside to tug out the dark blue cloth.

"Here, get yer hands first," Jack said, offering him the cloth and clearing his throat, but Mark was already shaking his head.

"Nah, get you first-"

"Mark, don't argue with me, clean yer fuckin' hands before you accidentally smear that all over one of shirts."

Mark pursed his lips, but Jack could see the way his lips were curling around the corners of his mouth, and he took the rag with a snort.

When they were both clean and presentable once more, Mark stretched before dusting the sand from his knees.

"Alright, wanna finish our sand castles, or did you want to do something else?"

Jack shot him a look, trying to gauge his tone and giving him an almost hesitant roll of his eyes.

"What, yeh wanna go fuck in a bathroom now?"

"Nah, that's _dirty_ ," Mark said with a shit-eating grin, and Jack snorted, shaking his head before he stepped out of the little alcove and looked down the beach at where their tools were still strewn across the sand.

"I dunno. I'm . . . kinda open fer anything, I guess."

"Cool," Mark said, running a hand through his hair and joining Jack as he looked out over the beach. "Well, uh . . . I'd like to finish up our castles and get some pictures. You know, so everyone can see the American superiority-"

Jack cut him off with a smack to his stomach, enough to make him suck air before the American started laughing and shoved the green-haired man.

"Yeah, no, I do wanna see you actually finish yours. But I think I'm gonna run up to the pier to get a drink first, if that's cool?"

"Oh," Jack started, and his stomach twisted as he processed the words. "Uh, yeah, probably . . . wanna get the taste out, huh?"

"S'not the worst thing I've had in my mouth, Jack," Mark laughed, and he brought a hand up to run it roughly through Jack's hair, mussing the bangs as he did. Jack made a little noise of indignation, ducking out of his grip, but he giggled a little when Mark's hand fell to pinch at his side. Mark was grinning at him, flipping hair out of his eyes, before he continued. "Besides, the taste's not so bad."

Jack choked, the blush spreading across his face again as he ducked and looked away.

"Good teh know," he said in a strained, cracking voice.

"I mean, you get used to it-"

"Oh god, Mark, stop."

"What, you don't wanna know how it tastes?"

"Nope! Nope, I'm good, thanks."

Mark was giggling - _giggling_ \- and Jack wanted to punch him in a mostly friends-fucking-around kind of way. They'd stepped a little further out of the alcove, but neither seemed eager to step out onto the beach again.

"Yeah, that was probably the hardest for me," Mark said after a moment, his voice thoughtfully as he tucked his hands into his front pocket and looked out over the water, and it took Jack a moment to process the words.

"The hardest . . . what?"

"Like, the hardest thing to get over. When I was starting to deal with guys."

"What, blowjobs?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" That seemed such a minor thing compared to all the other things you could do with a male. Or was it, it was just the hardest thing he'd actually done? "Had yeh never done, like . . ."

"Oh, I'd done some other stuff. Like, I've never fully bottomed to the point of having like an actual dick in there-" Jack tried not to cringe, his lips tight as he looked out over the water. He was going to have to get used to Mark's bluntness in this, obviously. "-but fingers and toys, yeah."

Mark rocked back on his heels, still not looking at Jack as they stood and watched the waves crash on the shore.

"But that's just like . . . sensation," he continued, still in that same casual tone of voice you might talk about what you had for dinner last night in. "Like, you can kind of just close your eyes and focus on the feeling? But with blowjobs, it was like I had to actually take a bit of initiative on it, and I had to have a dick like _right there_ in my face, you know? And obviously in my mouth. And that was a lot, uh . . ."

"Gayer?"

Mark snorted. "Something like that. It was definitely the most uncomfortable thing out of everything."

Silence fell between them for a moment as Jack processed the words, considering everything. He'd always been so fixated on the idea of actual gay sex, of . . . what was it, bottoming? Of bottoming being the apex of the gay experience, the kind of thing that was reserved for the gayest of men and the darkest circles of hell, according to the old priest from his childhood masses, the one that smelled like paper and something sweet.

He hadn't thought of it much outside of that. Even in high school, even with David, it had always been accepted that if anything happened between them, Jack was probably going to top, and he didn't have to worry much beyond that. It wasn't like he was going to get fucked, so it was fine - at least to his somewhat rebellious teenage mind.

But there was so much more to it than that. There were so many things to get accustomed to, so many things that he hadn't even considered, so many things he hadn't realized would be uncomfortable, and so many things that weren't near as uncomfortable as he had expected.

Like just now. Because Mark was right, if he'd closed his eyes, it would have been just the same as getting head from a girl. Only, he hadn't even considered it the other way around, him on his knees, Mark's dick pressed against his lips, his big hands curling in his hair-

"So yeh got over it, I take it," Jack asked, shifting the weight between his feet and trying not to let his mind wander too much.

"More or less," Mark said with a shrug. "Kind of goes along with that whole 'it doesn't matter' realization I had. And like, going down on a chick wasn't exactly the most amazing experience the first time I did that, so I figured it was about the same."

Jack shook his head, pushing his own hands into his pockets as he looked down at his black sneakers. "Yeah, I guess there's that."

"Come on," Mark said, rocking forward to flatten his stance again and reaching out to clasp Jack's shoulder. "Let's go get drinks, and then we can finish these bad boys."

Jack turned and grinned, pushing that confusion that churned in his gut away as he popped onto the balls of his feet, eager to escape and suddenly very thirsty himself.

"I'll race yeh," he said with a toothy smile, and Mark narrowed his eyes at him with a little smirk.

"Alright."

And then he was gone, bolting out to dash across the sand and making a sharp turn up towards the pier without even the courtesy of a "One, two, three."

And Jack was left laughing and racing after him, a shout of outrage on his lips as he pounded across the sand, closing the distance between him and the American, and determined to trip his stupid ass as soon as he got close enough.


	24. Good Morning*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [Collar Full by Panic! At the Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZAIEAG6Vgk) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)

**Robin:** _So are you back Friday or Saturday?_

Jack glanced up at the date on the screen, leaned over his phone as he sat on the edge of his freshly-made guest bed, a little ball of tension pooling in his gut as he counted down the little time he had left. Just two more days in the states. Two more days with Mark and his friends and then he'd be headed back to his familiar apartment and things would be . . . well, a little less confusing for a little while.

A hell of a lot less fun - but also much easier.

**Jack:** _Saturday around 2 I think_

**Jack:** _I'll text you when I land_

**Robin:** _Are you sending me anything before then? Or are we just splitting the two videos?_

A knock at the door startled him out of his conversation, and Jack snapped his eyes up from his phone to catch Mark leaning in around his door frame, hair messy and shirt rumpled, and he was pretty sure he was just wearing boxers.

Okay. He hadn't been ready for that, but sure.

"Hey, you want breakfast?" Mark asked, and his voice was rough from sleep, lips pulled up in a tired smile. He looked like he'd only just woken up, all messy and wrinkled, and Jack had to take a moment to take it in. Mark was almost always up before he was, at least once he fixed his jetlag, and it was startling to see him still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He looked good.

Of course he did.

"Uh," Jack said, free hand slipping up to slide roughly through his undoubtedly messy hair and struggling to make words work right in his head. "Um, yeah, breakfast, sure."

Mark's face crooked up in a smirk, and he stepped forward, straightening out as he stepped into the doorway properly. And yep, he was just wearing boxers under that big shirt, boxer briefs to be exact, and Jack was having trouble focusing on his face. He really did not need to be ogling the American this early in the fucking morning.

Weird how comfortable he'd gotten with that thought, though.

"Whatchya up to?" Mark asked in a teasing tone, eyes glancing down at the phone still in his hand and back up to Jack's face.

Jack rolled his eyes, the brief tension in his shoulders releasing easily at Mark's needling, and he waved the screen at him, giving him a brief glimpse of the simplistic messenger interface, narrowing his eyes with a little smile as he turned it back and started to write out his response.

"I'm just texting Robin, yeh fuck."

**Jack:** _Mark wanted to record something today, but it'll be a little late for editing, so just save it and split the two videos for now._

"Telling him about all the fun he's missing out on in America?"

"Just figuring out videos. Were we still recording somethin' today?"

Jack glanced up in time to watch Mark purse his lips, taking a few more steps into the room, and his eyes darted down to watch the hand Mark put on the doorknob. Like he was about to shut it.

His gut did something funny at that.

"Did you still want to?" Mark asked, and Jack blinked as he tried to pull his brain back from where it was suddenly trying to go.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, if you still wanted to . . ."

Just because Mark was in his bedroom . . . alone . . . in just his boxers . . . hair all messy and voice rough and just . . . that didn't mean he needed to go _immediately_ to dirty thoughts. He was better than that, right?

But the image of Mark on his knees was still burned into his damn brain, and it seemed to pop back up at the slightest provocation.

Like his goddamn dick.

Mark's lips quirked up in a funny way, and he stepped further into the room, pacing towards where Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Did you send Robin the sand castle clips?"

"Uh, not yet," Jack hedged, gripping the phone a little tighter as he watched Mark get closer. "I was planning on making a vlog from the trip and just . . . I figured I'd probably edit that myself."

"Oh," Mark said with a grin, stopping a pace or two away as he ran a hand through his messy fringe. "What, scared he's just gonna be able to tell?"

"Tell?"

"That you had your dick down my throat."

"Mark!" Jack snapped, eyes flickering to the door as his mouth pulled up in a nervous kind of smile, blush working up his neck. Goddamn this boy for being so . . . straightforward. No matter how many times he did it, it always seemed to catch him off guard.

"Robin just goes to edit it, and he's like 'Yep. That's definitely a post-orgasm face. Jackieboy got himself some nookie.'"

"Oh my god, Mark, shut up," Jack laughed, the pitch a little high and the blush working higher, but a weird giddy feeling under the discomfort.

He was so damn uncomfortable with all of this. Or, he had been at least. The idea of it, the struggle of figuring it out, the . . . the _shame_ , if he was honest with himself. But Mark just kind of . . . barreled right through that. Just knocked it all out of the way in favor of this giddy kind of exploration and . . . and _fun_. And it was still anxiety-inducing in a lot of ways, but it wasn't so . . . it wasn't so bad with Mark.

He wasn't sure how he would have gotten through this with anyone else.

He wasn't sure he would have _wanted_ to go through this with anyone else.

"Oh, come on Jack, you could at least tell your editor and _friend_ you got laid."

"What?!" Jack spluttered, eyes shooting up to look at Mark's face with a hint of panic in his voice. "No, why would I-"

"He could make sure to give the video the right mood."

"I told you I'm going to edit that one-"

"And you need to tell _someone_ you snogged under a bridge, 'cause I'm pretty sure that's the most adventurous thing you've ever done, and dear god, _someone_ needs to know."

"Mark! I- . . . you . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head in wonder as a strangled, exasperated laughed choked in his throat. "That isn't what 'snogging' means."

"Oh." Mark blinked, Jack opening his eyes in time to catch the confused expression as he drew his brows together. "Well . . . I snogged your dick?"

Jack snorted, the sound turning into stupid laughter as he gave up and flopped onto his back, phone still gripped in one hand as he stared at the ceiling.

"Sure. Okay. You snogged my dick."

He glanced down at where Mark was standing, still just a pace or two away from the bed, grinning like an idiot.

"Awesome. Now go brag to Robin."

Jack rolled his eyes, grinning as he lifted the phone up over his head to check his new messages.

"No."

**Robin:** _Cool. Still having a good time?_

**Robin:** _Did you get my twinkies and stuff?_

Jack's grin widened as he started typing out his reply, assuring the Swede that he'd gotten his American treats - only to yelp as he felt the bed cave in at his side and the phone snatched out of his hands.

"Hey!" Jack shouted, popping up to swipe at the phone now held firmly in Mark's hands, whining as he shoved up onto his knees to reach for it. "Mark, give it back!"

Mark was grinning ear-to-ear, holding the phone as far away as possible, eyes taking in the little snippet of the conversation he could see. One of his big hands came out to press at Jack's chest as his other thumb idly popped the keyboard up.

"No! Mark, you-" Jack started, cutting himself off as he threw his body weight against the man, sending them both sprawling onto the formerly-neat bed covers.

"What! I'm just helping you out," Mark cackled as he shimmied away, still holding the phone away and desperately typing at the keys.

"Mark, you little shit, gimme back my phone!"

Jack twisted the arm at his chest away, slipping past it to slam his shoulder into Mark's chest, writhing nimbly across his body as he grabbed desperately for the device. His fingers brushed it once, twice, before Mark's hand came out to catch his wrist, giggling as he struggled to yank Jack's hand back.

Jack shoved harder, and they went tumbling into a pile, fighting for dominance and control of the device. Jack managed to knock the phone from Mark's hands, but then it was just a desperate struggle to get to it first, both shoving at the other as they tried to get across the bed, cursing and giggling as their hands tugged and pulled at each other.

It wasn't until Mark pinned his wrists down into the mattress that Jack took a moment to take stock of the situation he was in. It had obviously been a last-ditch effort by Mark, Jack's fingers _so close_ to getting his phone back, twisted awkwardly across the bed as Mark arched over him, one leg between his thighs and-

This was startling reminiscent of that game of Twister.

Mark didn't seem to have noticed yet, his eyes still fixated on the glowing screen just out of his reach, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tried to shove Jack's hands together. Probably so he could hold him down with one hand while the other got the phone.

God, he was strong. Like, really strong. Like, Jack was actively shoving against his hands, and his arms weren't even _budging_ strong. And that was . . . that was something.

He'd have to assess that better when he wasn't wedged beneath a very warm man-child who was currently trying to tattle on him.

"Mark-" Jack hissed, twisting his hips harshly under Mark's weight, managing to pull one leg free and immediately wrapping it around the American's waist, holding him back with all the strength in his own admittedly strong thighs. Mark had managed to shove his hands together, and one of his big hands was covering both thin wrists as he tried to get a good enough grip to release his other hand.

Jack's hands were stuck, no matter how much he thrashed. He had the one leg hooked over his hips, but it wasn't doing much in the way of deterring him, and his other leg was pinned very firmly beneath the American, and he was just _stuck_. And it would have just been amusing and a little irritating if Mark hadn't somehow managed to get both of his wrists in just one hand, and started reaching for the phone again.

"Haha!" Mark crowed in delight as he snagged the device, victory clear on his face, before Jack leaned up and sank his teeth into his shoulder.

Mark made a broken noise against his hair, the sound stuttering in his ear, and Jack bit a little harder before he heard something thump against the bed behind him, and Mark's fingers carded harshly into his hair to yank him back.

"Did you just bite me?!" Mark asked incredulously, and his grip on his wrists slipped long enough for Jack to wiggle free, twisting his body to slither up the bed and grab desperately at the phone.

The feeling of it's warm weight in his hands sent a thrill of victory through him, and he grinned as he tucked it under him, one hand still wrapped around it, turning to beam smugly at Mark, and only then noticing his expression.

He was blushing. He was definitely blushing. It was subtle, but it was there, and when Jack shifted back to his previous position, leg sliding beneath him, he made an odd little noise, and . . . was that . . . ?

"Did yeh _like_ me biting you?" Jack shot back, raising his eyebrows with a growing grin on his face, sinking back into the mattress. Mark's eyes snapped to his face, and yep, that blush was stronger now, and Jack just wanted to _cackle_ at the stupid face he was making. After all the teasing he'd put him through? And _this_ embarrassed him?

"No-! I . . . that was . . . just-"

"I mean, I could do it again, if yeh wanted," Jack offered, and his cheeks actually hurt from how much he was grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief and giddy glee, and Mark looked like he was seconds away from bolting or tickling the shit out of him.

It turned out to be the latter.

"You seem to forget how goddamn ticklish you are," Mark hissed through a gritted-teeth grin as Jack hollered and tried to twist away from the delving fingers, phone left forgotten under him as his hands came up to catch Mark's wrists, tugging desperately to get him to stop. He was giggling and cursing as Mark muttered taunts under his breath, and they were both panting by the time Jack managed to yank Mark's hands away from him, throwing him off balance and making him shove his head into the mattress above Jack's head just to catch himself before he tumbled onto the prone Irishman.

"Now stop that shit," Jack said into a few stray tufts of Mark's hair. Mark's only response was to tug at his hands again, reaching against his restraints to try to get back to Jack, and the Irishman huffed and rolled his eyes before turning his face into the warmth of his neck and catching a bit of that tan skin between his teeth.

This time it wasn't some desperate ploy to get him to stop, but rather a distraction. And a bit of a curiosity, if he was completely honest. He was gentle with the bit of flesh he'd caught, rolling it carefully between his teeth and listening as Mark's breath caught in his throat, the quietest hint of a groan rumbling somewhere deep in his chest. He grinned to himself in another tiny victory as he released only to catch another mouthful, a little higher, rolling it and letting just a hint of his tongue swipe against it.

"Jack-" Mark started, but Jack silenced him by grabbing a larger chunk closer to his shoulder and giving it a proper squeeze, feeling the way his teeth imprinted into the skin. He might have worried it was too much if Mark hadn't let out a proper groan, his body sinking lower over Jack's and his hips jerking slightly. "Jack, this is gonna get real sexy, real quick if you don't stop."

Jack snorted, letting go of his grip to turn his nose into warm skin and rubbing against it, a stupid smile on his face.

"Maybe I don't mind that," he murmured into his throat, and he felt the way Mark tensed above him, some little noise stifled in his throat as seemed to consider. The words were out of Jack's mouth before he'd even thought about it, and he could feel a little ball of tension forming in his gut as he felt the mood in the room shift, the implication of what he'd said slowly starting to sink in.

This was more like a . . . a spontaneous thing. A thing people did when they were dating, or at least attracted to each other like that. Not like what you did when you were just figuring shit out with your platonic- no, with your just-trying-to-help friend. Or . . . maybe it was? Was he overthinking this? Everything else had been somewhat planned, at least talked about beforehand before it got started. But this was much more . . . natural. And Jack wasn't entirely sure what that meant.

He didn't get much of a chance to think about it as Mark cleared his throat.

"I, uh . . . I need to shut the door at least."

Jack snorted, trying to hold on to the playful attitude he'd had as he tucked his face into his shoulder, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against the warm flesh there. Just a quick second. A quick breath. He could do this.

"Mm. Go shut the door then," he murmured into Mark's shoulder before biting down again, hard, like the first time, and the body above him jerked as Mark moaned.

"You ass," he groused, but there was a whine to his voice that made Jack's gut do something stupid. "Okay, let me up, shit."

Jack released his grip, falling back against the mattress again, feeling the hard line of his phone digging into his back beneath him. Mark managed to untangle himself from limbs and sheets rather ungracefully, stumbling back towards the door, and Jack hissed a little laugh between his teeth as the American shot him a look.

"I swear, I'm gonna make you regret- oh," Mark stopped at the door, hand on the knob and half way through closing it before he turned back to look at Jack. Who couldn't help but glance down at the outline the beginnings of a chub were making in those boxer briefs. "Uh, did you have, um . . . lotion or something in here?"

Jack pressed his lips together, feeling the blush creeping up his neck as he forced his eyes back up and shook his head. "No, I, uh . . . I didn't bring any. I don't really need it?"

"Oh," Mark said, and he looked surprised, blinking several times before he seemed to remember what he'd been asking. "Well, I do, so just, uh . . . just wait here, and keep, keep looking sexy or whatever."

Jack couldn't help the stupid giggle he choked out at that, watching the American dart down the hall before flopping back on the bed and working on slowing his breathing again. Cool. Alright. Sexy time with Mark. Not what he'd been expecting this morning to start with, but he and his burgeoning erection were not against it.

Now he just needed to figure out what kind of pose "looking sexy" was, and he'd be all set.

When Mark returned, he found Jack sprawled out on the bed on his side, one leg popped up behind him like a swooning woman, hair a complete floofy mess, and shirt pulled up and tucked into itself to bare his midriff like some stupid bastardization of a crop top. Mark stopped dead in the doorway, barely a step into the room, and broke into muffled laughter.

"Oh my god, Jack, what the fuck."

Jack grinned, tilting his head in an exaggerated pout and dragging his fingers up his bare side as he eyed the American.

"Do you find this . . . _arousing?"_ he asked, tossing his head a bit on the last word and using the deepest voice he could manage.

Mark was hissing giggles through his teeth as he shoved the door shut behind him, and Jack had to duck as he chucked the little bottle of lube at him.

"Oh, you have no idea," Mark laughed as he crossed the room, hopping up onto the bed much more gracefully then he'd gotten off of it, and Jack giggled as he flopped back onto his back, arms thrown haphazardly over his head as he grinned at the American. Both of their hair were utter messes, Mark's shirt was still wrinkly, the neck stretched out and showing too much of his shoulder, and Jack was hardly much better in his old tee and boxers, and he was just thankful he'd already brushed his teeth. And even still this was . . . this was nice.

Mark seemed to hesitate a moment, looking over Jack's lazy prone form beneath him, and the Irishman's gut swooped in something weirdly exciting as he watched the man look over him almost nervously. Because he looked nervous, yeah, but he also looked like he was drinking in every inch of him, and it made him feel . . . good.

"Here," Jack said, dragging his hands down to slap them against his hips as he grinned up at the olive-skinned man. "Hop on, big boy."

Mark snorted, but swung a leg over him without a second thought, his lips pulling up in a stupid smile to match Jack's as he loomed over him. And then Jack was losing a bit of the stupid in his smile as he took in the weight of the man seated over his hips and the stiffy starting there, the lines of his thick arms as they came down on either side of head, the smooth expanse of his shoulder where there was a faint red mark from one of his bites, and the warm brown eyes crinkling up over his heartbreaking smile.

"Oh."

He might have said something stupid if Mark hadn't leaned down and kissed him. But then there were lips over his, slow and sensual, still with a hint of a smile, and Jack's brain short-circuited as he brought his hands up to bury in Mark's hair.

He hadn't been expecting the kiss. It was soft and warm, and seemed to fully envelop his thoughts for a moment as he adjusted to the sensation of lips against his. But it was . . . intimate. And spontaneous. And nice. And Jack was just . . . kind of done with overthinking for a few minutes.

Instead he focused on the sensation of his fingers twisting through Mark's messy hair, the heat he could feel coming off his scalp, the way Mark's lips were molding carefully over his, eyes closed, like he was focusing on every movement. Jack let out a breath, a soft sigh into those lips, and Mark groaned back quietly, both of them pushing a little harder until the kiss was deepening and it was Jack's turn to moan as Mark dug his fingers into his rough hair and held him still as he worked on conquering his mouth.

It wasn't rough, or desperate. It was . . . almost lazy. Slow and languid to match the early hour, and Jack melted into the mattress as he just . . . experienced it. His hand trailed down from his hair to cup the back of his neck, keeping him there as he drew up to kiss him at a better angle, tilting his head to lick across his lips. His other hand slipped beneath that stretched-out shirt to run across the smooth lines of his back, feeling muscle shift beneath his fingers as Mark readjusted, and he relished the little groan he drew out of him as he squeezed at the tense ridges he could feel there.

That seemed to shift something in Mark, and he sank lower, letting his knees and core hold him up as his free hand slipped under Jack's shirt in turn, pressing across his stomach and up to swipe over his chest, brushing a nipple softly with his thumb and making the Irishman jerk in his grip.

"Ass," Jack chided with a smile against his lips, pulling harder at his neck to drag him down closer as he felt Mark chuckle deep in his chest. The thumb didn't really leave, just continued tracing around the hardening nub, swiping over it gently before catching it against his knuckle and twisting.

Jack groaned as he bucked up gently, his dick doing more than stirring now as he pressed it up against the heat above him, Mark's hips shifting to accommodate the movement.

"Mm, you don't seem to mind that much," Mark murmured against his lips, and Jack wanted to roll his eyes at the smug tone to his voice. But then Mark was shifting again, this time to grind down into his lap, and Jack decided he really didn't mind the snark.

"Nope," Jack said breathlessly, his voice turning up into a clipped groan as Mark pressed down against him, twisting his hips, and pressing something hot and hard and equally interested against his shaft, straining against his loose shorts. "Nope, mmph, don't, don't mind at all."

Mark made some giddy chuckle against his lips, rolling his hips and sighing as Jack met the action, and they both devolved quickly to wordless kissing, hands roving and gripping and greedy as they made out in their lazy pile.

Jack opened his eyes after another few moments, his hand stroking through Mark's messy hair, eyes glazed over happily as he felt muscles sliding under his other palm as the American rocked slowly. Neither of them seemed in a hurry, and it was giving Mark time to really control the gentle roll of his hips, dragging him down in a delicious friction over Jack's shaft, and Jack's gut tightened sharply as his mind suddenly snapped to different imagery.

Mark over him, nestled tightly in his lap, those smooth muscles outlined in sweat as he sank down onto Jack's cock, hot and tight around him, and Jack's breath hitched painfully as he shut his eyes against the imagery. It was shockingly filthy and clear, and his cheeks burned as he failed to get rid of it completely, Mark's slow movements turning into riding in his head, and his hips bucked up a little rougher as the imagery wreaked havoc on his mind.

How would he feel, sliding down over him? How hot would he be? How tightly would he grip him? Would he moan when he sank down deep inside him, when he fucked up into him like this, when he-

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Jack gasped as Mark pulled back. The American's face was flushed, hair a mess, and he was wearing a crooked smile that made Jack's chest do something funny. His hands trailed down the Irishman's sides, pressing against his heated skin as he worked his way down to his shorts, fingers hooking over the waistband as he glanced up to meet his eyes.

Mark seemed to pause, eyebrows coming up as he searched his face, and if Jack hadn't still been reeling from the imagery his brain had just assaulted him with, he might have realized Mark was asking permission.

Mark looked him over, his soft lips parting slightly, before he grinned that grin of his again and kicked his leg over to the side so he could have room to tug the offending garment off.

Jack swallowed, face heating as Mark sat back on his ankles and just . . . stared for a moment. The stupid tuck he'd done in his shirt had unraveled, still bunched up across his chest and baring his midriff and the dusting of his happy trail. But that was the only thing he was wearing now, his hard-on out for display as it rested heavily against his hip, and he could feel it twitch under Mark's gaze.

His fingers itched to cover up, to tug the covers over or just curl up around it. He wasn't used to being . . . put out on display like this. And the way Mark was watching him, hazy-eyed smile still curving up his face, was doing weird things to him, and he just wanted to bolt.

But he didn't. Instead, he sat up, making grabby hands at Mark's shirt for something stupid to distract him.

"You're wearing too many damn clothes," he muttered in mock annoyance as his fingers wrapped around the stretched out material, tugging on it more in protest than in an actual attempt to rid him of the offending garment. Mark snorted, the sound turning to giggling as he leaned back and threw his hands up in the air.

"Undress me then," he said, his tone in some weird limbo between sexy and childish, and Jack rolled his eyes with a good-natured huff, chasing that moment of anxiety with Mark's cheeky grin.

"Oh my god, yeh big baby," Jack groused with an exasperated smile, shifting his grip to tug the shirt up properly, dragging it up and over Mark's head, hair falling in a mess as the American finally got free. He paused, trying to figure out the best way to rid Mark of the offending boxers as well, but Mark seemed to take pity on him, twisting to tug the pants down and slide them off his tan legs.

And then Jack was the one staring, as he realized he had a very excited, very sexy, very _naked_ Markiplier in his bed.

"Better?" Mark asked, leaning back to cock one knee up and rest his arm on it. Jack swallowed, looking him over before letting his smile creep back up.

"Yeah. Now c'mere."

He threw his arms around the red-haired man's shoulders, the grip loose but inescapable as he tumbled backward, dragging the other man down with him, rather ungracefully. Mark made a little noise of surprise as he following him down, landing in an awkward pile, and laughing as he tried to untangle them.

"Okay, wait, hold on- _mmph_ ," Mark cut off as Jack caught him in another kiss, both of them giggling as the American struggled to try to get them into some semblance of a comfortable position even as he went back to kissing Jack stupid. "If you don't hold still, neither of us is getting anywhere."

"Speak fer yerself," Jack quipped, grinning as he caught Mark's bottom lip in his teeth and tugged it softly. He snaked a hand down, teasing his fingers softly at his dick, and drawing an indignant sound from Mark, which just made him grin harder. He actually laughed when Mark managed to get a leg over Jack's, getting them somewhat situated, only to smack Jack's hand away from his junk, accompanied by a little tug of his hair as he pulled away.

"Do not take away my fun," the American snipped, a mock scowl on his face as he replaced Jack's hand with his own, and Jack would have probably had more to say if his throat hadn't been busy with the groan rattling out of it.

"Mmm, okay, yep, you . . . you do you."

Mark laughed, wrapping his fingers in a loose grip and stroking slowly over his length, drawing ripples of pleasure right back to his gut that made him want to start a slow rocking into his fist. He could hear his other hand popping the cap off the lube, realized they were probably going to end up like they had that first night in Mark's bedroom, and something about that seemed . . . wasted. Like they were using up an opportunity to experience something new when Jack was on such limited time.

But it wasn't like they had a whole lot to choose from. There was . . . there was, like, prep that had to be done if they were going to be doing . . . anything else - god, even thinking about it seemed to scramble his brain, how was he supposed to actually do it? - and Jack didn't think they really had the time to stop just now and try to start that. So it was this or . . . what, Jack could give him a blowjob? That thought had him curling his toes in delight, even as his stomach clenched in anxiety, nervous about fucking that up, and Mark was already stroking him, and it felt really good, and he didn't want him to stop-

"Wait- wait!" Jack spluttered, propping himself on his elbow and catching Mark's wrist with his other hand. Mark jumped, eyes snapping up to look at Jack in mild bewilderment as he slowly shook his head.

"Wh-what, something wrong?"

"No, I just wanna do like . . . the thing."

"The thing?" Mark looked utterly and thoroughly confused, and Jack wanted to kick himself for how little he knew about this shit.

"Yeah, the thing where you, like . . . here." He released Mark's wrist and sat up a little higher, using his core to hold him up as one hand tugged Mark closer by the hip, and the other reached out to grab at Mark's length and push it against the head of Jack's. "Like that?"

"Oh!" Mark said, eyes lighting up, and he added his hand to Jack's, holding them together as he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we can- uh, wait, it's better like . . ."

Mark pried his fingers off their dicks, and Jack wanted to whine in disappointment, but then Mark was moving them, nestling in in between his legs before he hooked his hands under Jack's knees, and dragged his legs up to rest against Mark's thighs.

"Here, now we can . . ." Mark started, facing pulling up in concentration as he lined them up, the new position letting them get near flush with each other as Mark bent over him, before breaking into a pleased grin. "Like that! See?"

Jack blinked down at their new position, at the way Mark's flushed crown looked pressed against his, the contrast of his pale legs hooked over Mark's tan hips, the way his stomach was curved in on itself as Mark bent him over. That was . . . stirring in a different way.

He only hesitated a moment before he let out a breathless little laugh. "Oh my god, yer such a dumb."

"Yeah, but a dumb who knows how to get your little Irish panties in a twist," Mark quipped with a smug smile, leaning slightly to grab the lube again before wrapping a hand around them both and pouring the liquid down over their rigid lengths. He stroked over them a few times as he poured, making a bit of a mess, but making that glide so deliciously smooth that Jack wasn't about to complain.

Jack reached down to slide a thumb across Mark's slit, unwilling to add his hand for fear of getting in the way, but too worked up to just sit still and take it, and Mark shuddered over him. Jack did it again, just to draw a little sound from him, before Mark started stroking them in earnest and Jack started to lose track of what he was doing.

It was . . . nice. Really nice. In kind of a different way from the first time. There was a bit of frustration at the lack of friction on the sensitive underside of his dick, and Mark's hand couldn't cover them completely, so there was some lack of coverage. But feeling the heat of Mark's cock up alongside his seemed to counteract those minor annoyances, and the first time the American rocked up into it, he was lost.

The sensation of Mark thrusting into his shared fist wasn't quite like anything he'd experienced before, hot friction along the line under his shaft, not quite lining up with his hand's movement, and the feeling was almost distractingly different. Good, really fucking good, actually, but different in a way that kept him from driving mindlessly towards an orgasm. More so, it was just something he wanted to enjoy.

And then Mark brought a hand up to steady himself, right over Jack's shoulder, next to his ear, and all Jack could see to one side was the straining muscle in Mark's arm, pretty veins running under tan skin, and Mark's hair was dangling just below his eyes, hiding the American's expression from him and letting him see the lines of his shoulders as he rocked up.

Jack's mind tried to apply it to his earlier fantasy, watching those muscles slide beneath the skin and trying to line it up with Mark rocking down onto his cock. But it just . . . didn't fit.

That imagery went with something else. And it was just as startling seeing his mind switch gears so quickly to Mark fucking into _him_.

Jack balked, shutting his eyes as his brain shoved images of Mark sliding into him, questioning what it would feel like to have that splitting him open, to be that full, and his thoughts fell into a jumbled, confused mess when all he wanted to do was have lazy morning sexy time with Mark.

"Mark," Jack whined after a moment, when shutting his eyes tighter and singing nonsense in his brain did nothing to chase the images and confusing, warring reactions away. His hands came up, one twining into Mark's hair, the other grabbing at his shoulder, dragging him down as he lifted his face up. "C'mere."

He got a brief glimpse of Mark's eyes, blown wide with lust, soft and hazy and damn pretty, before he kissed him, rocking his hips up in turn to Mark's fist, and driving the confusion from his brain. Mark groaned, his grip around them tightening as he kissed him, and his hips turned to slow, deliberate movements as he caught a good rhythm.

The kiss was lazy but thorough, only the gasping pants in between belying the urgency in Mark as he got closer to the edge, and Jack shifted one hand to grasp at his cheek as he kissed back just as thoroughly. It was hard to think of anything else with the slick heat around his cock, Mark's soft mouth sliding against his, Mark's groans and gasps caught by his waiting lips. And he let his body sink into the bed even as his hips started to thrust up in a needy way as he started to chase his own oblivion.

His orgasm caught him a bit by surprise, the alien sensations distracting him enough that he didn't realize how tightly he'd been coiled before it started to unravel. He had to break the kiss, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his sharp cries as he shot white ropes over his quivering stomach. Mark made a noise over him, like a whine, and Jack was vaguely aware of his arm shifting next to his head, gripping the sheets in a tight fist before he followed him into ecstasy, remarkably closely.

They both lay there panting for a moment, Mark hovering over him, hand stroking slowly over them for a moment before releasing their overly sensitive shafts and just holding himself up on shaky arms as he let his head hang. Jack had moved the hand from his mouth and was just staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed and happy as he rode through the clouds.

Mark was the first to move, shifting back to sit on his knees again, blinking up at the ceiling with a stupid, blissed-out grin as Jack followed him up onto his elbows. He winced as he realized his stomach and chest were a mess, lamenting the streaks that had made their way onto his shirt, and the fact that he was gonna need a shower.

"Ew," Jack complained, staring down at his pale torso and the milky white fluid coating it. Mark looked down, stupid smile still there as he breathed heavily.

"Oh, yeah," Mark said with a breathless grin. "Yeah, how's it feel to be the jizz table?"

Jack snorted. "It's gross and sticky and hot," he complained, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. "And I meant in temperature, yeh nasty fuck."

Mark giggled that hissy kind of giggle he did and ran his clean hand through his hair. "So I guess bukkakes are off the table for you, huh?"

"Oh, god, don't push yer luck Mark," Jack shot back, letting his head flop back as his elbows held him up and shook it lazily.

"It gets better with time," Mark answered, and Jack cracked an eye at him to glare with a smirk.

"Go get a rag, yeh doof."

"Or, I mean, I could just . . ." Mark started, leaning forward and sticking his tongue out, like a dog about to lap at water, and Jack slapped his arm, shoving at him as he groaned.

"Oh my god, yer so nasty. Go get a rag before I throw up on you."

Mark grinned cheekily, and Jack rolled his eyes, before the red-haired man tugged him forward and caught him in another kiss, this one exceptionally lazy, but satisfied. And Jack melted in his loose grip, too blissed-out from his gooey, post-orgasmic happiness to put up any kind of fight.

"Alright, don't move, be sexy, you know the drill," Mark said as he pulled away, patting Jack's leg before he disentangled himself and slipped off the bed. Jack watched him go with a fond smile, feeling the way his heart swelled, fuzzy and warm in his chest, before he flopped back onto the bed and grinned at the ceiling.

He hoped Mark thought lazy laid-out poses covered in cum were sexy, because he didn't have the energy to move into anything else.

Although, he was starting to think Mark probably found a lot of things he did sexy.

Wasn't that an interesting thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight hablikseesthestars, here's your new Midas, where's my next chapter of Dude? :}


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